


Start a whole new life and learn to adore it

by Handfulofdust



Series: In the heart and in the head [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handfulofdust/pseuds/Handfulofdust
Summary: Olivia and Rafael learn to navigate their new relationship as well as his new work role.





	1. Not a sigh and not a sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to leave this universe alone and only write one shots but my brain had other ideas. You don't have to read both Sighs and Doors to keep up but you should probably go with one of them so you know the background. 
> 
> Big thanks to rosehips for cheerleading me through this writing process.

They’ve only been dating for a few months, she thinks. Really she shouldn’t be asking Rafael about this at all, but he loves her and he loves Noah and it’s not that big of a deal. Honestly.

Except, it’s one thing to play dinosaurs and robots and watch Disney movies. It’s another thing entirely to ask him to participate in school things.

Meet the Teacher Night is next Thursday and she thinks it would be a good idea for him to go. He picks Noah up from school enough and he’s here enough and he’s certainly helped with enough of the homework that he should at least meet the other parents and see the teacher.

She’s pretty sure he’s in this for the long haul. He’s as much as told her this. They skipped over like 890 steps and are now kind of rolling backwards, but she thinks he’ll be interested.

She knows how stupid it is for this to be a problem asking. He’ll either say no and she’ll understand. Or he’ll say yes and she’ll be happy. Or there will be a discussion. A discussion she’s not sure she wants to have.

Because the discussion means talking about the future and falling out of this bubble. This perfect, smooth, lovely, happy bubble. It’s going to burst, they always do, but she wants to stay in it for as long as possible.

Use your words, she reminds herself. He’s never going to leave. Not again, not if he has a choice in the matter. Not if she has a choice in the matter.

So, she has plans. He’s going to come over for spaghetti night. She will be making the noodles, thank you very much. ( _Al dente her butt)_

They’re going to talk with Noah, maybe play dinosaurs or watch a movie. He’ll read him a story and they’ll put him to bed and then she’ll ask.

She made sure to buy a nicer bottle of the label of scotch he likes. Maybe he’ll be so distracted by it he won’t realize what she’s really asking.

_Would you like to go to Meet the Teacher Night?_ really means one more step to making things really real. Not that they aren’t now, just - she doesn’t know why it makes her so nervous. They can talk it out.

Noah beats her to the question. She doesn’t see it coming. He’s tapping his spoon and fork together, swinging back and forth in his chair. Rafael is trying to get him to calm down, but he’s just giggling because he gets to play dinosaurs after dinner.

Rafael and Noah and dinosaurs.

“Noah,” he tries, calmly but clearly a little bit frustrated because they’ve been trying to get him to talk about his class all night. “Mi amigo, if you don’t try and settle and eat your dinner we won’t be able to play dinosaurs though.”

His eyes widen, he settles down, starts shoveling the noodles that she has pre-cut for him (even though he always wants to do it he always gets the sauce everywhere). In the middle of a mouthful of sauce, he asks. Tomato paste sprays into her face “ _mrpshera skershdaf wersdafs._ ”

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth Sweet Boy, please,” she admonishes. She meets Rafa’s eyes over the table. He’s amused.

She’s thinking about how full her heart is and how stupid it was to wait so long to make this a reality. How she should have done this years ago. How she should have just taken the train down to DC one day during those six months and made out with him.

How that would have been besides the point, that he needed to do that to figure out his next step. She’s thinking of all of this when Noah steps on the trip wire she’s been trying to avoid for weeks - since Noah brought home the flyer for the Meet the Teacher Night.

“Rafa,” Noah begins, “will you come meet Mrs Harris next week?”

He’s wide-eyed and hopeful. Gazing up at him like he’s got the moon in his face. She’s going to stab him if he dashes her son’s hopes, she thinks. She’s going to ground her son for not asking her about this first. He's too young for that. Maybe a time out.

Rafael smiles, “Noah, I can meet Mrs. Harris whenever I pick you up from school, right?”

“No!” Noah shakes his head, curls springing against each other. “This is special. It’s when all the parents come to the school and we show them all the stuff.”

_Parents_. It's way too soon for that. Maybe not never but definitely not now. Family takes time and she's worried this is going to be another two steps back.

Noah continues his speech, she wants to crawl into the floor. “I asked Mrs. Harris if I could bring a friend other than Momma. She said it was fine as long as it was okay with them.”

She supposes she should be grateful for that, though the world is full of stepmoms and dads and other relatives raising kids. Not everyone who does the work of a parent is called Mom or Dad.

It suddenly feels too soon for this conversation but Noah doesn't care.

“Is it okay with you?” He beams at Rafa.

“Well,” Rafael begins, meeting her eyes. “I think we’d have to make sure that’s okay with your mom.”

She can’t really read his expression. Is he looking for a way out? Does he want her to say no or yes? “And I’m really busy next week so you’ll have to let me know when it is. That way I can make sure I’m available.”

She’s pretty sure that means he’s fine with it and is just asking for her approval, but before she can hedge her bet and ask him in a roundabout way, Noah turns to her, expression pleading. It’s also tinged with the self-assuredness of a child who’s spent way too much time around Rafael Barba at this point.

“Momma,” he raises his eyebrows, “Rafa can come meet Mrs. Harris right?”

“Sure Sweet Boy,” she smiles, wondering just when he dropped the Uncle part and why she’s just now noticed it. “As long as Rafa can clear his schedule.”

She looks at Rafael, whose expression is still shut off. She thinks he’s mad about something, but if it’s this she’s not sure why he’s agreeing to go.

“When is it?” Rafael is asking her, but Noah attempts to answer.

“Um…” the boy bites his lower lip, “I forget.”

“It’s Thursday from 6 to 8,” she manages, even though her stomach is still lodged in her throat.

“I should be able to make that work,” Rafael nods, almost happily. Then pulls his phone from his pocket and taps away.

She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to change plans or move around his schedule. He’s said he’s all in but they haven’t really talked about the Noah part. She’d told him he could stick around in the morning, that Noah should get used to him, but he’s only done it once and they haven’t discussed any more. She hasn’t pressed it because this is always the spot where she gets stuck.

She’s going to give him another out - just in case.

“If you have a meeting or something -”

“No,” he cuts her off, sharply, then shakes off the tension. “I’m writing an email to my assistant to put it in my schedule but I know he won’t do it so I’m putting it in myself.”

She’s told him he should fire this assistant multiple times but he’s always countering with something about unemployment and how it’s too much hassle to defend his decisions to the mayor. Besides, he’s some important person’s kid’s friend so he’ll quit eventually when a way too large company needs an incompetent mid-level manager.

“So you are coming?” Noah asks, bouncing in his chair.

“Yes,” he grins, none of the tension directed at her son whatsoever. “As long as I can make it, mi amigo.”

“I understand,” he nods, picking up his spoon and fork again. “Sometimes you have to help people.”

They finish dinner. Well, Noah scarfs down dinner then chatters away about all his friends at school that Rafa gets to meet next week.

Once the three of them are done Noah throws dinosaurs around, tells Rafa they are playing in the tar pits. She’s not sure either of them have the heart to tell him what happens in the tar pits.

Suddenly it’s 8 pm and time for bed. Noah does not enjoy this because he wants “ _to spend time with Rafa! He is never here!_ ” He’s here at least three times a week. Sometimes he spends the night but he never ever stays.

This is all her fault. She was so confident that first week. So sure that first month. She liked the little bubble they were in and now she’s afraid she just asked for more. More that he isn’t actually ready to give.

Hopefully he can actually come, but Noah is probably used to disappointment at this point. What a great mom she is really.

Noah brushes his teeth, insists on Rafa telling him the bedtime story with the knights. She’s not sure she can handle watching that without her heart clawing out of her chest so she wishes her son goodnight, kisses him on the forehead, and goes about disinfecting the entire kitchen.

There’s a discussion coming. She knows it.

“He’s finally down,” she hears Rafael as he latches the door behind him, “Eddie was really quite anxious and needed the Night Night song to sleep. Noah was perfectly okay.”

He leans over the counter, smiling, notices the gloves and bottle of cleaner. He doesn’t say anything about it.

She stops, holding her washcloth in the air, “You know the Night Night song?”

“Noah taught it to me a few weeks ago,” he offers. She’s perfectly okay with avoiding the subject if she gets to banter with him like this. “I caterwauled my way through it.”

“Somehow I doubt that highly,” she’s referring to his comparison to a shrieking animal, not Noah teaching him the song. He knows it. He merely shrugs, smiles.

Maybe she can avoid this dumb conversation after all. Maybe putting Noah to bed put him back in a good mood and they can go back to pretending everything’s hunky dory.

He makes his way into the kitchen, leans against the refrigerator. “So do you want to talk about why you didn’t want to invite me to meet Mrs. Harris or would you prefer to continue scrubbing down the counters like we’re in a hospital?”

Busted. She doesn’t know how he can jump through every single wall she’s erected and then misinterpret her so thoroughly. Though it takes one to know one.

The anger wasn’t that Noah was asking for him to join, it was that she hadn’t invited him herself. Well, he should know better. She should have known better really.

“Can we talk about it while I scrub down the counters?”

“Fine, but just so you know I’m going to be watching your ass while you do it.”

She rolls her eyes, resumes wiping. She’s really almost done and she thinks he knows this but this should help her distract herself. He’s such a snot really.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to. It’s kind of a big step and this is still new and I didn’t know Noah was going to ask you. I’m sorry he put you on the spot like that. I can tell him you have a meeting.”

“Whoa,” he pivots from the fridge, comes up to her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s back up about fourteen steps.”

She sighs and puts the washcloth on the counter. This is going to be a thing now.

“First off, you don’t have to take care of everything. If I have to cancel that is my fault and I’m not putting it on you to tell him. Secondly, I know we’re moving fast but I can slow down a little if it’s making you uncomfortable. Thirdly - Liv, look at me.” Her eyes dart up, he’s looking at her that way again and she wants to catch fire and hug him all at the same time. “This is new but we are not new. I know what I’m getting into and I’m all in. So I would like to go if it’s okay with you.”

She smiles awkwardly, “Its okay.”

They both know it’s more than okay. It’s needed. It’s wanted. It’s a gesture and a step forward. “I’d kiss you but - “ she trails off, gestures to the gloves on her hands and cleaning supplies. He laughs and reaches under her chin, pulls her forward and kisses her softly.

“Well you can finish up your unnecessary nervous cleaning and I’ll find a movie we can pretend to watch while we make out.”

She splutters, resumes scrubbing while he pulls a wine glass and a tumbler out of her cabinets. Getting the drinks ready is a clear sign he knows just exactly how unnecessary her nervous cleaning was.

She joins him on the couch a few minutes later. She doesn’t know what movie he picked out. She leans into his shoulder, wraps her arms around him. He pulls her further into his side. She tries to pay attention, but before she knows it she’s asleep.

She wakes up with a mouthful of cotton, only belatedly realizing it’s his shirt. There’s a wet spot on his shoulder because she fell asleep with her mouth open and she makes a mental note to apologize for that later. She’d offer to clean it for him but it’s probably something that absolutely must be dry cleaned on Tuesdays after the full moon sets.

She doesn’t realize he was asleep too until she starts to move away and he jolts awake. He looks down at her and immediately calms down. “Hey -” he smiles.

“Hey,” she reaches a hand out to rub his jawline. “So much for making out then huh?”

He laughs, involuntarily stretches his arms, blinks his eyes several times. “Well, I should be getting home then.”

He releases her from his hold and she doesn’t like it. She really doesn’t like it. Whoever thought Olivia Benson would be this into cuddling? He gets up from the couch and she manages to do the same without falling back over.

She’s quite tired really, but she doesn’t want him to leave.

“You didn’t want to come to bed?” she asks as he toes on his shoes, tamping down the urge to whine like her son. Maybe they both had formed a bit of an attachment.

“Well, as much as I would love that activity,” he yawns. “I’m worried our mutual friend Angelo is going to have to call me a cab because I’m about to fall right back to sleep.”

“I know,” she says, “That’s why you should come to bed. I bought you a spare toothbrush after last time.”

Last time was the first time. Saturday morning when she’d woken up to her best friend’s arms around her, heat and scent and comfort all enveloping her body. Saturday morning when it took her a few minutes to realize she wasn’t dreaming or stuck in a fantasy. When she realized that they’d finally taken the plunge and it had been just as wonderful as she’d hoped. Better, even.

He just hadn’t done it since.

Sure, they’d had sex. His place, her place. Couch, hallway, bed, shower, one interesting use of his kitchen table that mostly devolved into a fit of giggles. His tongue was, well - anyway. She’s far too tired to be thinking of that. But every time had ended with either him begging off and going home or her waking up without him in the morning.

“Okay,” he looks her over, as if something is warring within him to ask but he’s too tired for the conversation. “Okay.”

They’re both not sure why intentionally sleeping in the same bed seems more intimate than having sex in the bed and falling asleep but she’s not ready for him to leave and she’s formed a strange attachment to his undershirts.

She’s formed a strange attachment to him.

She should probably have him move a pair of pajamas here but she thinks he actually prefers to sleep naked. They’ll talk about it later.

She brushes her teeth while he strips down into his undershirt and boxers, he brushes his while she leaves on her underwear and puts on an oversized shirt.

She’s slipping into bed when she hears him open the bathroom door, he lifts the other side of the comforter and pulls her into his chest.

“We should probably talk about how you wear way too many clothes to bed,” he snarks. That question answered, “but I assume it has something to do with being woken up in the middle of the night.”

“Bingo.” She mutters, snuggling into his chest and wrapping a leg around his waist.

“We’ll work on it,” he sighs, putting his nose into her hair.

They’re both asleep in less than a minute.

* * *

 

When she wakes up in the morning she has to stop the desire to whine - to curl her hands into fists and scream into the pillow that now smells like his cologne. He’d left. Hadn’t she told him it was fine? Hadn’t she told him Noah should get used to having him here?

They’re going to have to have another talk. This time it’s going to be about leaving before she gets up. She knows he’s worried about what it will mean for Noah but Noah is already inviting him to meet his teacher so he’s going to have to come to terms with it.

Plus, she likes having him here. Plus, she misses him when he’s not. Plus, it kind of makes her feel like he’s not as into this whole thing as she thought.

Which seems ridiculous for a man who’s at her apartment at least three times a week, who takes her on fancy dinners and puts her son to bed without incident. The same man who told her he’s been in love with her for years. She believes him. She just isn’t sure what she’s missing.

She pushes herself out of bed, brushes her teeth. She doesn't have much time to get Noah up and ready for school. She brushes her hair and puts on some makeup. Throws on a blouse and pants she doesn't pay attention to.

She starts the Keurig and is about to flick through her phone when she remembers the drinks they left on the coffee table. She has got to be more responsible. What if Noah thought they were juice? That would be an excellent conversation for a social worker.

She looks over at the coffee table and the drinks aren't there.

She’s about to have a panic attack, about to run into Noah’s room and ask a lot of questions, but suddenly remembers her boyfriend is kind of a neat freak. She goes to ask him about it and finds he has already texted her.

Multiple times.

_[Somehow I remembered coasters despite my exhaustion last night so you don't have to worry about rings on the table]_

She'd never even thought about rings on the table.

_[Even though it was physically painful I poured the drinks down the sink.]_

Such melodrama. Imagine how he would have felt if it were coffee he’d had to pour down the drain.

_[I'm buying you an actual coffee machine. I refuse to drink anymore shit from a pod]_

She nearly bursts out laughing at that. Of course he hates the Keurig. Though why he’s okay buying her a coffee maker but not staying in bed is beyond her. Maybe he just gets up really early. She’s decided not to analyze him this early and settles on texting him back.

_[Wouldn't you be buying yourself a coffee machine?]_

_[And thank you for taking care of the drinks. I'll make it up to you later.]_

_[No need.]_ He responds nearly immediately, like always. She wonders why that feels new, except, he doesn’t have court anymore and she knows for a fact he texts through half of his city government meetings. _[and yes - it would be my machine, but since it will be at your place you will be allowed to use it]_

_[Your consideration is, as always, appreciated.]_

She keeps meaning to let him know he can stay longer, intending to ask him to actually stay the whole night. He's full in, he'd said it. She just can't ever find the right words.

She's not sure why she does this. She loves him. He loves her. It isn't hard.

But the coffee maker is a sign he intends to stay at some point. Maybe she'll find the right words by the time it gets delivered.

In the meantime she gets to bring her boyfriend to meet her son's teacher and for once in her life she's not thinking of the 890 ways it could go wrong.

She doesn't really know what she ever waited for (Him. Her. To be ready). She doesn't know why she's waiting now..

Because she's terrified of pushing too far and pushing him away. She's terrified of him leaving. Again.

Because she knows, somewhere deep down, this is the end and there's nothing she can do about it. Even if she wanted to. Even if he rips up the pieces of her heart and throws them down the disposal.

He never would. He wouldn't dream of it.

Not intentionally.

* * *

He sends her a tracking notification for a package that afternoon. He’d informed her he had a meeting he actually had to pay attention to so he couldn’t join her for lunch, but the meeting must not have been that important since he clearly spent it on Williams Sonoma’s website.

She chooses to ignore the notification and instead sends him an article about the latest hot button issue coming out of DC. This earns her 5 texts in response. The first three a series of expletives with the last two being actual content. She just sends him back an angel emoji.

She’s successfully distracted him and that’s all that matters.

Carisi brings in a new victim to be interviewed. By the time she gets home she’s entirely forgotten about the coffee maker until Angelo stops her on the way in. He tells her he left it on the kitchen counter but it seems fancy so to call down if she needs help.

Angelo is sweet. It isn’t at all in his job description to help her put together a fancy coffee maker Rafael probably spent entirely too much money on. She tells him as much and he says that he thinks Mr. Barba is just trying to make himself comfortable in her space.

He’s probably right. He’s definitely right. She thanks him for both the offer and the insight, really and makes her way upstairs.

She tries to ignore it through dinner. Noah asks her a million questions she answers half-heartedly. She thinks about texting Rafael and telling him he has to leave whatever meeting of very important government agencies he’s at and come help because it’s boring a hole in her counter. Maybe she’s boring a hole in the box.

She doesn’t. One, because he’d probably respond with a random reference to some Edgar Allan Poe short story or something that she doesn’t understand. Two, because he’d actually leave a very important meeting and it isn’t at all necessary.

After dinner she opens it and spends all night trying to put it together.

Noah is very insistent on helping (“ _Rafa bought us a robot Momma!”)._ He even tries to assist by sounding out words but she has to keep stopping what she’s doing when he gets stuck on words like “extraction” and “infusion”.  

She should call someone to come over and help her with this. She should have taken Angelo up on his offer in the first place. She should wait for the next time Rafa is over since its his stupid machine but she also doesn't want to have it sitting on her counter all week.

(Who is she kidding? She wants to use it.)

About halfway through her fool’s errand she realizes it's not actually a coffee maker. It's an espresso maker. With a grinder and a milk frother.

Her dumb fancy boyfriend.

Her boyfriend. Like they're going steady and talking about talking. Boyfriend seems a strange term for what he is to her.

It still makes her smile.

_[Really?]_

She texts him with a picture of the pieces on her counter.

They finally get it done when she tries to program it and it won't work. Noah is ever so helpful with this as well

“Momma,” He says, smiling, “it doesn't work because it doesn't understand you.”

“It's a machine - Sweet Boy,” she ruffles his hair “it's supposed to do what you tell it to.”

“He wants to help. He just doesn't speak English.”

He’s not wrong about that. Not wrong about that at all. She’s about to give up on programming entirely when she looks at her phone and find a text from Rafael. He sent it, characteristically, right after she sent the picture.

_[Do you need me to come over?_ ]

Yes, but not to put it together. Not really because she wants him to program it - though that would be helpful. She just wants to see him. Always.

She texts him back with a picture of the machine and decides to take the opportunity.

_[Sorry for not responding earlier. We finally figured it out. Noah thinks it's a robot but I can't work out how to program it. You wanna come over and help with that?]_

He’s at her apartment in no time.

They’re both so distracted with dinosaurs and knights and the Night Night song they completely forget about the reason he came over in the first place. Well, maybe she intentionally distracts him with Noah and then intentionally distracts him with making out on the couch. She has plans to show him just how much she appreciates the gesture but promptly falls asleep instead.

She tries not to be disappointed when he’s not there in the morning. He probably had to get coffee. She still is. Though mostly in herself for not figuring out how to ask why he won’t stay. 

* * *

 

Before she knows it Meet the Teacher Night is upon them. She wasn’t nervous last week and she’s not exactly nervous now. She just knows they need to talk and he’s probably going to spend all evening being ridiculously charming. Which isn’t a problem, necessarily, just - she’s always been attracted to him and now that she knows how good it actually is sometimes it’s hard to keep her libido in check.

He meets them at the apartment. She knows he hates walking but the school is just a couple of blocks away and her shoes are fine.

If he’s annoyed he doesn’t say it. He’s mostly engrossed in Noah’s babbling.

Noah has his full attention really. Not in that way you end up doing with kids after they’ve told you the same story for the 900th time or with way too many details reminding you that Suzy had breakfast on a boat last week. That way you sort of zone out and hope they don’t notice. Not Rafa.

She doesn’t know what she waited for. The reasons seemed rational at the time. The misconceptions seemed like absolute facts. Now she’s annoyed they could have been a family years ago.

Now she’s annoyed she can’t figure out what kind of family he really wants.

For the first half of the night only the adults are supposed to meet the teacher. This means all the children get corralled into the gym while they go back to the classroom. She tries not to let her worry show on her face as they walk down the hallway littered with colorful drawings. Rafael, of course, senses it and asks her about it as they sit down in the small chairs.

“Hey you okay,” he searches her eyes. “I can go back and watch him if you're worried.”

“No. It's fine,” she smiles. He’s still her best friend after all. That part never went away. It’s almost more poignant now - being able to share all of this with him and be open with all of her feelings at the same time.

“I have to get used to it and let him be a kid sometime, right?”

He matches the sad smile on her face. He knows. He was there too. He changes the subject immediately. Like she wants him to. Lord bless him really.

“I do enjoy that we’re supposed to sit in chairs made for children.”

“I think we’ll manage.”

Mrs. Harris introduces herself and goes a bit into her education. She doesn’t honestly care about most of this. As long as she passed the school’s background check and lets them be children she’s fine with her. She’s not sure how much any of that is supposed to matter when they’re in kindergarten.

A great deal apparently. If the way Rafael is engrossed in her spiel is any indication. He’s actually writing notes. She leans over to try and distract him but he doesn’t even notice.

She looks at his piece of paper and realizes they’re notes for questions later. Something about programming and coding. Another about historiography.

She always thought kindergarten was for coloring and learning to sit still. Maybe it is, but maybe it can’t hurt for them to have a good foundation for the future. Maybe if she had a teacher like Mrs. Harris or a parent as engrossed as Rafa she would have learned to enjoy the reading assignments she hated.

She stops that train of thought immediately. He’s not offering to be a parent. He’s just being a concerned well - labels are tricky, aren’t they?

When they finally get to the time to ask questions, one parent takes over. When is winter break? Where can she file a formal complaint? Where is the principal's office?

This is highly exasperating to Rafael. He fidgets in his chair. Sighs each time the woman raises her hand again. She can’t help that his agitation makes her want to laugh. Sure, it’s annoying, but he’s only acting this way because he wants them to start playing whatever the current version of Oregon Trail is.

“Calm down,” she reaches over, places a hand on his bicep.

He catches her eye, leans against her side and manages a whisper. “She either doesn't realize there are other people here or she doesn't care. We didn't come here to listen to all of Jenna’s inane questions.”

She rolls her eyes, “Her name is not Jenna and this isn't court. Don't make a scene just to make a scene.”

“Jenna” then asks for a full rundown of the school’s tornado drill procedures. This is apparently the final straw.

“I cannot with this woman. This is New York City. Almira Gulch isn’t out on the farm kidnapping the family dog and we don’t get tornadoes, Dorothy. I’m putting a stop to this.”

He raises his hand.

“Oh my God. Stop.” She grabs his arm, pulls it back down.

He smiles, feigning innocence, “I was just going to inform them it's in the handbook.”

“You read the handbook?” She doesn’t even know where he got the handbook, though she supposes he has his ways.

His only response is, “Didn't you?”

As if they’re equals in this. As if, maybe he really did mean his all in comment and he’s ready to start now.

“Yes,” she manages, tamping the lump in her throat, “but -”

“But what?” he insists, “Noah isn't going to be getting in trouble for something arbitrary. I needed to know all the rules “

She smiles, laces her fingers in his.

She knew he was dedicated. She knew he was dogged and thorough and all of these things made him the most effective advocate in court. There was a reason his task force was so successful. To see him use these skills for Noah, to take it upon himself to learn these things, well - Lord help anyone who tried to get Noah in trouble.

Lord help her because she's somehow falling in love with him all over again. She knows he can't follow her expression exactly. What she really wants to do is run her hand through his hair and kiss him senseless. But they're adults and they’re in public and it’s quite unfortunate that she can’t.  

She registers a man behind them laughing and breaks eye contact. She realizes everyone's looking at them and mutters.

“We're drawing attention now.”

She motions to the thirty or so pair of eyes staring at them. Rafael doesn't miss a beat. Doesn't care to be embarrassed or sheepish. Takes it as the chance he's been dying for.

“The tornado plan is in the handbook,” he says, adopting an explanatory tone. “She didn't want me interrupting.”

The rest of the class laughs. Well, almost everyone. Not “Jenna”.

”Right. Thank you Mr -” Mrs. Harris falls off, realizing she doesn't know his name.

“Barba.” He answers helpfully. He then turns to the perfectly coiffed woman in the corner.  “Actually ma’am. All of the answers to your questions are in the handbook.”

“Jenna” looks affronted. Rafa just smiles like he won the case of the century. He always did love an argument.

“Well, but what about the active shooter policy? I am sure that is - “ the blonde with a perfect manicure and what she suspects are very expensive shoes tries to ask.

“In the handbook yes.” Rafael interrupts and before she can continue with another series of questions, he starts with his own. “You know Mrs. Harris. I do have a question. Are the kids going to be receiving homework soon?”

“Did you just ask for homework?” She can’t help herself laughing. The rest of the room joins in. Everyone except Jenna in the corner yet again. She narrows her eyes at them. Rafael just waves at her and she scoffs, turning her head to the teacher and breaking contact.

Mrs. Harris explains that while the children are in kindergarten and they will not be receiving homework they are expected to complete certain tasks at home, such as recommended reading. She is then able to answer a few questions from the other parents before encouraging them to walk around the room exploring before the children get back.

They’re in the reading corner when she decides to needle him about “Jenna.” He hasn’t let go of her hand since they got up from the chairs. Maybe it’s the setting or the fact that they got a win on a case a few days ago, but she feels ridiculously happy.

Really though. It’s him. Stepping up like this in a big, powerful way and still managing to be himself.

“I think you’ve made a powerful enemy,” she gestures toward the blonde talking animatedly with some of the other parents.

“I have several,” he answers, nonplussed, looking at the collection of books in the shelf. He’s probably annoyed he can’t take notes about those either. Probably wants to bring in something that a third grader should read as an aspirational endeavor or something ridiculous and over the top.

“Seriously,” she mutters, “I don’t know why I let you come to this.”

That gets his attention. He looks up, and his expression immediately morphs when he realizes she’s teasing. “I’m sorry that you’re in love with me.”

“Me too,” she counters.

They probably look like two teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other but she genuinely doesn’t care. He grins and pulls her hand up to his mouth, kisses her knuckles. He’s being very annoying but he’s very cute and she guesses she’ll let him live.

The kids are brought back in. Noah’s whole face lights up as soon as he sees them. But he immediately grows serious when Rafael puts a finger to his mouth to be quiet.

This is the same person who once held her son like he was an ICBM. The same person who told her multiple times he doesn’t know what he’s doing with children. Either he was lying or he’s good at faking it.

He was definitely lying.

Noah shows them his favorite book as well as the cubby hole where he puts his coat and his lunch box. His friend Victoria’s cubby is next to his because her last name starts with a B too. He was in class with Victoria last year too.

She’s met her parents. Javier and Keith are very nice even though she finds Javier a bit inappropriate at times. In fact, she’s pretty sure he was the one who was laughing at them earlier.

Though she wasn’t exactly being appropriate either. It’s not her fault her boyfriend used to be a prosecutor and he likes to show off sometimes. Okay it’s kind of her fault he’s her boyfriend but she’s really not sorry about any of it.

It’s definitely her fault that she likes it when he shows off.

Noah then insists on showing them his desk. He tells them about his neighbors - Caleb, Gurminder, and Jane. He tries to climb on the top of his chair because he wants to flag over Gurminder and his parents. But it’s then that Mrs. Harris comes over and he sits down promptly.

The young woman smiles at him and he beams back. She’s very proud she’s raised such a well-behaved boy, but she suspects he just wants to impress his teacher.

“Hi Mrs. Harris,” he jumps out of his seat and grabs her arm, “This is my Mom.”

Mrs. Harris shakes her hand, says it’s nice to meet her. Rafael is still hanging out beside her. Mrs. Harris doesn’t miss a beat and smiles at him.

“Is this the friend you wanted to bring, Noah?”

He shakes his head animatedly, “Yeah. This is my friend Rafa.”

She shakes his hand as well but before either of them can get a word in, Noah jumps in.

“Rafa says we’re supposed to get you something nice but practical,” he says, clutching at her arm. “Did you bring it Momma?”

She’s confused. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about at all. She looks down, apologetic, “I’m sorry Sweet Boy I -”

“Here you are Mrs. Harris,” Rafael interrupts, digs into his briefcase, and hands Noah’s teacher a bunch of pencils. Only they are wrapped with a bow. “From Noah to you.”

The young woman smiles, takes them, and looks down at Noah. “A bouquet of Number 2 pencils! This is very thoughtful of you Noah. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams. Even though Olivia suspects this was all Rafael’s doing. Mrs. Harris must figure the same since she gives Rafael a knowing look that she’d be jealous of if she let herself.

Mrs. Harris goes and talks with another family and she’s beginning to think she should not have let this happen. Rafael is going to get himself in trouble charming the pants off of someone he’s not actually interested in.

“You cannot help yourself, can you?” she leans over into his face, whispering. “You’re almost thirty years out of school and you still have to be a teacher’s pet.”

Rafael scoffs. Noah looks between them like he wants to pull them away but is also trying to be polite.

“I’m always nice to teachers. Mamí was a teacher. Do you have a problem?”

“No,” she narrows her eyes, “But be careful or Mrs. Harris going to think you're interested.”

He bursts out smiling, realization suddenly dawning on his features “You jealous?”

“No,” she stammers.

She’s really not jealous. At least not allowing herself to be anyway. It isn’t as if he doesn’t buy her things or do things for her. It isn’t even like that. She just feels like him not spending the night is him intentionally closing himself off a little.

He raises an eyebrow and is about to say something when Noah finally can’t take it anymore. “Rafa come see Remy.”

He drags Rafael to see the class’s pet rat. She doesn’t know why their pet is an actual rat and not a mouse or something. But she’s spent far too much time on the subway to be interested in joining them.

She’s taking it upon herself to organize Noah’s art box when Javier and Keith come over.

Javier wastes no time in hugging her as if they’ve been best friends for years and immediately asks about her “new arm candy.” 

Javier then becomes exactly as inappropriate as she thought he would be. He leans over so only the three of them can hear.

“Honey. We know you have to have a candy flavored vagina if you caught that man wearing those saggy outfits,” he points at her loose fitting top with a blazer. She thought they looked nice this morning but she does have a habit of just throwing things on.

She knows she’s been getting thoroughly -- satisfied when her impulse is to respond that he spends enough time down there that it might. But she’s not going to stoop to his level by giving him the satisfaction.

“Javi please,” Keith interjects, rolling his eyes. She knows the feeling. “There are children here. Forgive my husband Olivia. He watches too much Real Housewives.”

“It's not an insult really,” Javier shrugs, as if he didn’t make a snide comment about her outfit.

“Believe it or not he used to work in finance before we had Victoria and now he's lost all sense of decorum,” Keith continues his admonishment.

“And believe it or not Keith used to be fun,” Javi is nothing if not persistent, clearly wanting the details she’s not willing to give. “So Olivia how long have you had Señor Suave over there wrapped around your fingers?”

Somewhere between a few months and six years seems like an evasive answer but she’s not about to get into it.

“Um,” she fiddles with Noah’s crayons, “we've been dating for a few months.”

“A few months and you've already got him coming to these things?” That one’s from Keith.

“He's…” she trails off, trying to find the right way to explain.

Amazing, passionate, charming, ridiculous and infuriating. She looks over at him at the rat cage with Noah. He’s now speaking with the same blonde woman from earlier. Somehow he charmed her too.

She finds the word - “Committed.”

“Clearly.” Javi laughs. Yeah. He definitely was the one laughing earlier. “He read the handbook. I didn't even know there was a handbook and I'm a house husband.”

“Oh he's just being a lawyer with that…” she throws out a non-committal hand.

He wasn’t just being a lawyer with that. She just doesn’t want to examine what it means that he’ll come to things like this, make gestures like that, but not want to wake up next to her in the morning.

Javier isn’t letting her get away with that either.

“No. That’s not it. Keith's a lawyer. Your… novio is a proud papí. You hang onto him or I'm the first in line.”

She can’t believe he’s actively saying things like that in front of his husband. Then again, who is she to judge? She can’t even have a conversation with her… novio.

“Is Keith dead in this scenario?”

“He’s joking, mostly.” Keith answers for him, putting his hand on her shoulder consolingly. “Olivia - if that man looked at either of us the way he looks at you, we’d understand.”

Javier nods approvingly.

“Thank you?”

She decides to take it as a compliment even though she thinks she should be embarrassed by it. Of course he wouldn’t be spending all this time with Noah if he wasn’t really willing to. He’d even done it before when they were both being stupid.

It still brings her kind of a laugh that she ever thought he’d date Fiona. Well, mostly that Fiona would date him.

They’re both full in and honestly - he’s her best friend. She can take it if he’s not ready for everything yet. She thought she was the one who was a few steps behind with these feelings but maybe not. She’s got the rest of their lives to figure it out.

That seems a bit presumptuous but - maybe, maybe not. You don’t know unless you ask.

Use your words, she reminds herself.

She closes the lid to Noah’s art box and makes apologies to Javier and Keith. She’s just going to have to join this stupid rat conversation since it’s been going on for far too long. She mostly wants to go home and finally have this out.

“Momma,” Noah asks as she makes her way over to the solarium Remy the rat inhabits. He points at the large rodent expectantly. “Would you like to pet him?”

She’d rather pull the hair out of a hotel drain.

“Maybe later.” She manages without letting her lip curl thinking of Templeton eating all of the trash at the fair. “I was thinking we could go home soon if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Rafa is talking to Caleb’s mom though.”

Rafa perks up at his name and turns around, smiling when he sees her. “Hey Liv,” he motions for her to join him, “This is Genevieve Yates.”

He raises one eyebrow as if to say _“I told you her name was Jenna”_

“Nice to meet you,” she reaches out a hand even though the woman seems less than enthused, “I’m Olivia Benson.”

“Yes, your partner was telling me all about you,” she answers, not shaking her hand. Though she does like the term partner. Feels better than boyfriend, really. More apt. She moves her hand back out of the way.

Genevieve continues, giving her the stink eye and turning back to Rafael. Her whole demeanor changes. “Mr. Barba,” she smiles, thrusting out her right hip.

It suddenly hits her. She’s never known what this actually looks like until now. She’s been jealous of friends, of women who could be her cohorts. This is what a real predator looks like.

She’d feel compelled to mark her territory but she’s not remotely threatened. She trusts him. He loves her. He’d never. She thinks Genevieve knows that too.

“I think we really could get this project off the ground soon, Mr. Barba,” Genevieve simpers. “But I have to go. Call my office next week okay?”

He nods as she whisks over to Mrs. Harris, who seems severely put out by even the prospect of the conversation.

“What was that about?” she asks him, resisting the urge to hold his hand again.

“Oh,” He smirks, “she thinks the non-profit arm of her company can get funding for the backlog.”

_The rape kit backlog_ is understood. She’s honestly amazed this woman would even care about that. Hidden depths and all that maybe?

“I’m surprised she’d care about -”

“Don’t get it twisted Liv,” he quirks an eyebrow as she trails off, amused she always manages to think the best of people. “She cares about the good PR it will generate. But I’m okay with that if it gets things done. You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. She gets Noah to stop staring at the rat. They wave goodbye to Mrs. Harris, who is still on the receiving end of what seems to be Genevieve Yates’s diatribe. She’d save her but, she’s got things to discuss with her - boyfriend, novio, partner?

He’s simply her Rafa, really.

Well, not _simply._ Labels are tricky and she doesn’t much care for them.

She tries to grab his hand as they’re walking out the door but before she can he’s picked up Noah. She rolls her eyes. He’s not honestly going to have a six year old at his hip for two blocks, is he?

She imagines she must look wistful as she stares at them. She forgets to breathe a few times if she’s being truthful to herself. She even blinks back a few tears thinking she could have had this years ago.

She hopes he meant it when he said he wanted the full package, because she’s not sure she can wait any more.

They make it about a block before Noah wants down. He grabs her hand in his left and Rafa’s in his right. He’s delighted.

She wants to be. It feels like a family, what she always wanted. What’s she’s wanted with Rafa for a long time.

She swallows the lump in her throat and manages to feign happiness. She doesn’t manage to tamp down her fears that Noah will be gravely disappointed later.

That she will be gravely disappointed later.

They make it to her building, Angelo smiles as he opens the door for them. She only wishes it means that.

Noah insists it’s her turn to put him to bed, so Rafa sits on the couch while she tucks him in. She’s barely a few words into the Night Night song before he’s out like a light.

She sighs, brushes back some of his curls and kisses his forehead.

Time to face the music yet again.

She’s shutting Noah’s door, about to ask Rafa to stay, for the whole night, when she knows without asking it’s a lost cause. His shoes are still tied, jacket still on. He’s barely sitting on the edge of the sofa. He’s got that look on his face, something similar to when he saw her with Stone at Forlini’s once. He can’t think she’s having some sort of affair or something?

They both know she’d never. He’d never.

He springs up from the couch, looks her dead in the eyes, and floors her completely.

“I get that I'm not good with kids Liv, but I'm really trying here.”

Of all of the things she thought he would bring up, she didn’t imagine it would be that. What does he mean that he’s not good with kids?

“Are you kidding?” Is all she can muster as a response.

“It may come out awkward but I really do like Noah,” he pauses and releases a deep sigh. Runs a thumb along his eyebrow, begins to pace the length of her living room. “I think we should take a few steps back. I've been overstepping.”

“What?” she puts her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Rafa what are you talking about?”

He’s got it all wrong. All completely wrong. The last thing she wants is a few steps back, but if it makes him feel more comfortable she’s willing to go with it.

“I’m sorry,” he looks into her eyes, there’s a sadness she’s not sure the origin of. “I keep coming over unannounced and not looking out for boundaries. I know you spent all night wondering what could have been if you hadn’t fallen for someone who just can’t help being the center of attention. I tend to … steamroll so I’ll uh - take the toothbrush and that stupid espresso maker and see you at brunch on Sunday.”

The questions she wants to ask him don’t come to her readily. The things she wants to say can’t form over the lump in her throat. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to him.

Then it hits her, he’s been misinterpreting her stupid sad looks as disappointment. He knows she loves him, but he still somehow thinks she doesn’t want him here. God he’s such an idiot sometimes.

Well, maybe she is too.

“Rafa,” she grabs his hand, pulls his fingers through hers, “Please don’t take the toothbrush and you can leave your fancy coffee. Please don’t leave. I wasn’t - you’re not overstepping. I mean, you’re pushy and irritable and God knows you annoy the shit out of me sometimes,” she laughs, releasing his hand to place hers over his chest. “But honey, what drugs are you taking that make you think you aren’t good with kids?

He rolls an eye, leans back like he’s trying to get away. So she grabs him by the neck to keep him in place. She wills him to meet her eyes, which he does.

“Everyone was entranced by you. You even charmed Genevieve by the end of the night honestly. I was thinking about what could have been, but not in the way you’ve worked it up. I was sad because if I had acted on what I think I knew about three years ago I wouldn’t be waking up lonely and horny every morning.”

He looks taken aback by the last part. He does know he’s attractive and charming so the enchantment isn’t exactly a surprise to him. But the fact that she wants him like that always seems to come as a bit of a shock to him. It would be hilarious to her if it wasn’t so sad.

He raises his eyebrows, “Olivia, there’s a big difference in Noah coming home and seeing me here and Noah realizing I slept with you in your bed.”

She realizes they’ve never actually slept together with Noah here. It isn’t that he isn’t it ready. It’s that he thinks she isn’t ready. Of course she wants him here. Of course she’s okay with Noah realizing they shared a bed.

She sees him smile, understanding that he knows what she’s going to say before it’s out of her mouth.

How he knows her so thoroughly yet misinterprets her so completely she’ll never get used to. Though, years of self-denial and self-doubt can do that to a person.

She bites her lip, instead settling on teasing him, “if you don’t want to you can say it.”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“I would like nothing more than to wake up with you in my arms and then bury my tongue between your thighs before we have to get him ready for school,” she practically whimpers as his hands settle at her hips. “but that’s taking a few steps forward. I’m also not sure you’d want to run the risk of waking him up.”

She wants to tease him about being too cocky but that makes her lick her lips thinking about it. And maybe he deserves to be cocky about that.

He’s also right that she has trouble keeping her thoughts to herself in bed. She’s not sure he knows that’s all him too. She’d never been that… vocal with her other partners but she’s not going to bring it up to him. It’s the last thing she wants to think about.

“I was hoping we could use the shower so I didn’t have to risk it,” she fists her hand into his shirt, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “And tomorrow morning I’ll be very quiet.”

He leans forward and captures her lips. She falls to the couch, bringing him with her. She buries her hands in his hair as he continues kissing her, only breaking contact with her mouth so he can lick at her pulse point.

They continue like this, kissing like a pair of horny teenagers, for what must be an hour. It’s when she suddenly yawns that she realizes there will be no shower tonight. She doesn’t want to disappoint him but the smirk he gives makes her suspect he already knew that.

They barely manage to brush their teeth before crashing to bed. She's getting old, she thinks. After today's emotional rollercoaster they both deserve a few orgasms, but she's so tired.

It's only when she's in that weird half state just before you fall asleep that she realizes it's not a rut. It isn't something to be embarrassed about at all. She feels comfortable enough with him not to feel the need to put out all the time. He still seems amazed she even lets him in this far.

Somehow she’s half on top of him, her face on his chest and his nose in her hair. Her right leg is sprawled across him and she has half a mind to have him lean back over on his side but before she knows it she’s asleep.

* * *

 She wakes up before he does that morning. It’s so comfortable she doesn’t want to get up. It has very little to do with the fact that it’s 4 am. She briefly registers they’ve moved at some point because his hand is at her waist and their legs seem to be tangled together. She burrows her head into his chest and inhales deeply.

This is exactly what she wanted. It’s amazing what you can get if you just … ask.

She wakes up to her phone alarm and his lips at her hairline. She opens her eyes gradually and he looks down smiling before she reaches out to flick the timer back.

She smiles back at him, puts her arms around his neck, and is about to invite him to the shower when he closes his eyes and sighs. It’s 6 am. Noah has to be at school at 7 and Lucy will be here in thirty minutes.

He offers to help Noah get up and get dressed while she gets coffee and lunch ready. They manage to crawl out of bed. She hears Noah’s excitement from the kitchen when he realizes Rafa is helping him get ready for school.

Yeah, she’s dumb. Noah knew Rafa was ready before she did. Though Noah is highly perceptive and likes to think the best in people.

Maybe she should trust her instincts. Especially about Rafa. Because if she really dwells on it, she did kind of like him when they first met. He just had to open his mouth.

(Even then, if she’s being honest, she was mostly annoyed she was so attracted to such an asshole. It wasn’t until later that she managed to bury a lot of it. Even then not really.)

She’s still fiddling with the espresso machine when Lucy walks in. When Rafael emerges from the bedroom with Noah she doesn’t even seem to think it’s new.

Okay, she was definitely the one always two steps behind with her feelings.  

Lucy makes a comment about them still not figuring out the espresso maker, presses two buttons, and out drains the coffee. She has to resist the urge to hug her as she hands Noah money for hot lunch.

He puts it in his backpack and hugs her goodbye. Then he waves at Rafael as he and Lucy walk out the door.

He leans against the refrigerator in much the same way he did a week ago. She goes to him this time, hugging his waist as she sighs into his chest. “That went well.”

“Aside from some arguments about blue triceratops not matching purple stegosaurus I’d agree with you,” he pushes from the refrigerator and puts his hands into her hair.

She laughs, leaning back to look in his face, “He's never cared about any of this before. You're a terrible influence.”

“Mi amigo just wants to look nice,” he manages a reasonable facsimile of a shrug.

“You're incorrigible,” she laughs at the grin breaking out across his face.

“Thank you,” he drops his hands, seeming disappointed. “I need to run home and get dressed though.”

Oh.

That probably was another reason he’d always been leaving so early. The espresso maker was just him buying himself more time to sleep. Well, she’s going to buy him all the time he needs.

Use your words. Take the chance. Trust him. Trust yourself.

“You know,” she leans forward, kisses him on the lips quickly, “you could store a few things in my closet so you don’t have to in the future.”

“Okay” he kisses her back lightly, not remotely surprised at the invite, “love you.”

She's meaning to say it back, but he's out the door before she realizes. He's said it before. Many many times. She knows he means it. He's proven it over and over but still saying it? After a bratty kid and no coffee and having to run home before work. With her hair all ratty and eyes bloodshot and no promises of return? He'd said it as if if it slipped off the tongue. As if it's as instinctual as breathing.

Well, maybe that's her.

He bought an espresso maker, he read the handbook, he told her he loved her with no caffeine intake. He finally spent the night  He doesn't need to prove anything to her. Not anymore.

Maybe she's the one who needs to prove it to him.


	2. Everything's different, nothing's changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael visits his mother, makes plans with Olivia, and tries to avoid making a decision.

Being happy causes time to run together. At least, time doesn’t dredge on when you spend it with the love of your life and you’re not miserable, wallowing about what the law can’t accomplish. That's what he tells himself when he realizes he and Liv have been dating for three months and he hasn't even told his mother.

He imagines he should feel a bit guiltier about not telling her, but he doesn’t owe her every piece of his life. Really, he’s been busy - advocating for better victims’ policies, gaining support for them, dealing with random politicos who show up in his office with no prompt because his assistant is too busy posting Instagram Stories about his dog to make a schedule.

He only knows there is an Instagram account because Fiona has expressed a desire to hack it. He suspects the only thing stopping her is that Chet’s father works for the Attorney General.

Though he really suspects that’s what’s stopping him from firing Chet. If anything that would encourage Fiona ( _Jefferson Beauregard Sessions The Third should go back to the tree he bakes evil cookies in_ , she said once. As if she is any taller than a poodle or cookies could ever be evil.)

Honestly, he hasn’t been stopped by the kid's connections either. It’s just too much of a hassle to find a new one. There’s the devil you know and then there’s what you don’t anticipate.

He’s got plans to see mamí for dinner on Wednesday. That's after what he’s sure will be another completely normal trip to Fiona’s Wednesday lunch spot. She’s still been flirting with Trina, even though she hasn’t broken up with the very real Eric. He'd ask but he knows if he does he'll get every single detail.

He may have already been told every single detail. It's amazing how much she doesn't annoy him nowadays. He'd say it has nothing to do with his sex life but it has everything to do with his sex life. Well, his sex life, his dating life, actually feeling like he's making a difference in his life, for real this time. It's all come together so nicely he can't help but look for the other shoe.

But he's been through the other shoe dropping, paid his penance, found his family, taken his chance. If there is another pair of shoes he’s going to enjoy what he’s got now.

This is possibly why he’s slightly been avoiding Lucía Barba. Because she is going to find some reason to take him out of his very real, very lovely high that’s only been tampered once (because they jumped to the wrong conclusions about what each other wanted). Mamí will find something to disapprove of. He just knows it.

He doesn’t want to have a fight with his mother so soon after she’s decided to forgive him.

Noah is quite upset when he tells him he will be missing spaghetti night. He tells him sometimes we have responsibilities. He reminds him that you always have to follow your mother’s rules. Even when you’re old like he is.

Noah pouts. He doesn’t understand why his momma can’t have spaghetti with all of them. Maybe someday, maybe when he bucks up and no longer is afraid of her. Maybe once he talks to her about all of it.  

* * *

 When he meets her for dinner, she's made a large vat of a traditional Cuban dish his abuelita made for him when he was sad. He’s quite, quite worried. She wants something. He suspects she's already dished out several Tupperware containers for him to take home because she’s convinced he’s not eating. If anything he’s put on weight.

Mamí asks him about work, admonishes him over not coming to visit more. He expects her to press him about Olivia, but she doesn’t. She probably still wants something, but details about Olivia aren’t it.

She’s more concerned about a new policy a City Councilor is trying to get enacted.

She’s halfway through a rant about a lack of funding when he realizes two things. One, he needs to stop zoning out when people are talking. It's rude even if they aren't saying anything interesting. Two, he knows what this policy is.

It’s the same one the random politicos who visit his office at all hours have been trying to get pushed forward.

“Mamí,” he starts as she takes a breath, “Are you talking about the Safe Schools Initiative?”

“Yes,” she narrows an eye like she knows he wasn’t listening. Because he wasn’t actually listening. Your mother always knows. “It’s quite good, you should get the mayor to sign it.”

Like he has the ear and the brain of the mayor. He only works for him, and this is a proposal that has to pass the education committee before it even gets anywhere near his desk to sign.

“We both know that’s not my job nor how policy proposals work,” he matches her expression.

“You know what I mean,” she waves a hand, chewing on a piece of chicken. “The mayor will listen to you and it is a good proposal.”

It doesn’t matter if the mayor will listen, it matters that it gets through the council. It matters that his mother is telling him, a 47 year old man, what he should do at his job. He barely keeps up with these things. How would his mother even know?

Ah, right.

“Who told you about this? The teacher’s union?”

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes,“As if they don’t have their own agenda.”

“Just read it Rafí," he shouldn’t find it hilarious that he never mentioned he didn’t read it but she assumes (knows) he did not. He still does, “Then you can let me know if it doesn't work.”

“Fine,” he huffs. He’ll sandwich it in between a dinner or something. Who cares.

“Good,” she shifts, her demeanor changes. “Now. How is your Lieutenant?”

Here’s the prodding about Olivia. He has half a mind to answer with something highly inappropriate about going over to her apartment after this cross-examination is over and giving her the best orgasm of her life, but he doesn’t need to get slapped. Not today.

He's also long since stopped trying to correct her on the “your”. Even if she is currently his girlfriend. Or, whatever term there is for it. She’s definitely that in his head - but he hasn’t discussed it with her and he’s not going to assume he knows what she wants. At least, not with labels.

They don't work together anymore and he's not possessive.

“Liv? She’s fine,” he can’t stop the smile that breaks out across his face. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw her on the news the other day when they were arresting that creep who had that show,”

Horace Carson hosted a talk show on a cable news network. He’d paid out millions of dollars in settlement money to several employees to silence sexual harassment claims. That didn’t even begin to cover what he'd done to the poor young woman who he kept as his nanny. Creep was a good word. Sadist seemed more accurate.

He snaps out of this terrible line of thinking, telegraphing pictures of bruises Peter Stone shouldn’t have even shown him. They’re talking about his, well, his _Lieutenant_. “She looked well.”

“Yeah, she’s doing well,” he nods, a bitter smile on his face. “I think she’s excited to see all these guys finally get nailed for what they’ve done.”

He could have their names in his heads, the ones that he would have been happy to prosecute, but he’s more concerned about the men and women who’ve come forward and finally gotten their day. The culture is finally changing but at least Manhattan has always had Olivia. And Fin. And now Rollins and Carisi.

Maybe even a stodgy by-the-book lawyer like Stone doesn’t need years of training to get it. Maybe even a hotshot prosecutor looking to make a name for himself wouldn’t have taken so long to see the difference in being an advocate and being a lawyer - that they should go hand in hand.

His mother seems to be on the same vein.

“Too bad you couldn’t help with that,” she muses. “But you look better.”

He thinks so too.

“I kind of helped with this one, behind the scenes,” he’d basically guilt-tripped Jack McCoy into pressing charges, and then held re-election over his head ( _If you wait on this until The New Yorker does a thoroughly researched take-down piece, City Hall is going to be the least of your problems.) “_ I don’t need to be on TV anymore.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “It’s still too bad, but I think you’re in the right place.”

He agrees, in multiple ways. In his heart. In his head. In the work he’s doing. He hopes he’s helping to prevent some victimization. He hopes he’s make some folks’ lives a little easier. In the meantime, he’s found the love of his life and she loves him back. He doesn’t need much more than that.

Maybe for his mother to approve.

He waits a few minutes, eats a few more morsels.

“Mamí - ” he starts, hearing the non-existent clock tick by seconds.

“Yes.”

This isn’t difficult. He’s not even nervous and he really could care less if his mother approves or not. He is a grown man and she doesn’t have to agree with all of his decisions. It still would be nice if she did.

Best way out is through, right?

He drops the fork on his plate, grabs her hands in front of him, makes eye contact. “I'm dating Olivia,”

She’s unimpressed. She raises one eyebrow, then states, “finally.”

He drops her hands, shakes his head, picks up the fork again. “Wow, thanks.”

“Well,” she says, leading onto her own peace, “I was hoping that was why you were so happy and not that you were on drugs or something.”

Drugs? His mother must’ve watched another one of those weird, late 90's school specials where they teach you “street names” no one has ever used. If finally being happy and satisfied and content is equivalent to substance abuse maybe he has bigger problems at work than he’s been thinking.

“You were worried I was on drugs?”

“No. Not really,” She furrows a brow, “but it's good to prepare.”

“Well thanks for the celebration,” he leans back, stifling laughter.

“I'm not congratulating you for finally getting your act together. You've been in love with the woman for years.” She’s not incorrect, it’s just - not that simple. “When do I get to meet her?”

“You've already met her,” he tries, wanting to back out of this already. She’ll ask a million awkward questions, bring scrapbooks of him as a fat baby, mark Noah’s reading progress on a chart and tut over him only being in the 1000th percentile for something.

She just raises an eyebrow. One, judgmental, no nonsense, utterly serious and terrifying eyebrow.

He sighs, “Does next Wednesday work for you?”

“Yes,” she decides, then rattles off a list of instructions, as usual. “It will be at your apartment and you will cook for all of us. But not pasta. You are terrible at making pasta.”

He had no idea his cooking was that bad, maybe he should have asked his mother what he should have made (or listened to Fiona). Or maybe it was good he messed up the spaghetti noodles. It broke the tension and reminded them both of what they had, what they still could be, what they are now.

“It's too easy,” Lucía continues. “You get distracted. Make one of Mamá's recipes. Olivia will be impressed.”

He’s not courting her or going to trying to pretend he’s someone he’s not, though making one of abuelita’s recipes sounds excellent.

“I don't need to impress her-”

“But wouldn't you like to?”

Yes. No. It doesn’t matter.

But if he is going to be banned from spaghetti he can’t bear another Noah meltdown, especially with his mother there to mark it in a little red book about how bad a job he is already doing.

“Well if it can’t be pasta then it can’t be Wednesday. That’s Noah’s spaghetti night,” he’s about to explain how much Noah loves spaghetti night and then just who Noah is when he realizes he’s probably been talking about Noah since Liv adopted him. He’s always been a mess around both of them, hasn’t he?

He catches the smirk on her face, “We can’t have that. How about you talk with her and then let me know what day works?” 

“I really do love you Mamí"

“Te amo también, Rafí”

He thinks he's finally started gaining enough evidence to retry his case about his terrible cooking. Though the jury has been a bit compromised and some of his evidence is lacking. This is going to be an unbearable experience but it's necessary.

He’s going to give Olivia the chance to back out of this though. Maybe he’s counting on her to get him out of it. 

* * *

 It's Thursday night. They've had dinner, put Noah to bed. Liv has her feet in his lap as he reads this stupid Safe Schools Initiative on his laptop.  

She tells him that Noah is going to a sleepover at a classmate's house over the weekend. He's shocked she's willing. He's not sure it's a good idea.

He looks up from the section detailing teacher incentives, “You’re okay leaving him with people you don't really know for a weekend?”

Maybe he's the one who's not okay. It's possible he's worried Liv is doing this for him.

“I’ve known Javier and Keith for a good year,” she shrugs, though he senses the nervousness she's trying to tamper, “I need to stop being so protective.”

He closes the laptop lid, places the computer on the coffee table. “You have good reason to be so protective, but I do think it’s good for Noah to start socializing more,”

She smiles, moves her feet back to the floor and scoots close to him. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close. He nuzzles his nose into her hair. He loves smelling her hair. He loves having her this close, being able to help, even though he's not actually doing anything.

She sighs. It's warm, content. The nervousness she'd never admit to actually feeling has broken.

He settles on a joke, “though I do think Javier is the one who tried to invite me to a key party.”

She laughs, no weird energy or deeply ingrained jealousy.

“Yeah, he’s a little in love with you.” She places a hand to his chest to push back and look into his eyes, a devious expression on her face. “He calls you Señor Suave.”

He could laugh. He knows she isn't actually worried about either of them. She wouldn't be talking like this if she was. He still feels the need to tell her. He doesn't know why it feels necessary. Maybe it's just nice to say.

He clasps the hand that's at his chest, holds it to his heart. “You both know I’m very much taken, right?”

She grins. His heart swells. This is why it felt necessary to say. Making her happy feeds his happiness. It’s so ridiculous he could smack himself and not even feel it.

“We’re both quite aware,” she looks into his eyes. Communicating words neither of them will ever be able to find. He loves her so much. That isn't new.

She runs her thumb against his cheek, places a short kiss to his lips, then moves back down and cuddles into his chest. “I think he just spends too much time on the Internet because he’s lonely all day.”

He knows the feeling. Though he busied himself with law review articles and immigration stories. Tried to bury his heart and his soul as a policy of some kind of isolationism. Javier's joking seems a better way to cope. At least, a healthier way to cope.

“If he needs a job I think Chet is going to quit soon.”

He mostly hopes Chet will quit soon. The other day he tried to have him file something and it wound up in a seat cushion. He only found it because Carisi had come to visit and asked why Noah had been playing with papers detailing scientific studies.

Liv chuckles. “I think Javi just needs friends, but I’m glad to hear about Chet. He’s terrible.”

She hasn't even met Chet. He always manages to be “in the bathroom” or “at lunch” when she drops by. He fancies himself a social media influencer. He's not sure he knows what that is.

“Come on, let's go to bed,” he rubs her back. Neither of them make to move.

“We could sleep here,” she mutters.

“Your bed has nicer pillows.”

“Point well argued.”

He moves the laptop back to his briefcase. She asks what he's been reading about as they walk to bed. It's in that moment he realizes the only nights he hasn't spent at her place in the past month have been her at his.

This is likely why he had such trouble sleeping last night. Why he'd ended up texting her about a dinosaur bed for Noah in the middle of the night. He’d only slightly been hoping she was awake. More like counting on it.

_Don't you dare,_ she'd written within minutes _. Come over and put your insomnia to more productive use._

He'd barely made it into bed before they’d both passed out.

He wasn't sure that was considered better use but he was beginning to think she had the same problem.

Was it possible to be this attached after only a few months? Yes, he admonishes himself, especially after years of dancing around the issue.

He's not complaining. It's just getting difficult to keep track of what outfits are at what place. Even Noah has complained that he doesn't have enough shirts. Though that may just be him leveraging for more shirts.

He's not sure if he's actually good at negotiation or just cute, but it works.

Should he admit he's going to miss him? He knows it's his turn for the Night Night Song and he kind of actually likes doing the dinosaur voices now.

He tells her that he's reading an education proposal several people have been up his ass to throw his support behind. She laughs, asks him if he reads the user agreements on everything too. He does. You shouldn't sign or agree to anything you haven't read. He's also trying to find a reason to not support it if he's being honest. He hasn't found one yet.

* * *

 She's getting into her side of the bed (he's not really sure when they developed sides) when he decides it's not a problem to admit he likes her kid.

“So Noah is going to be gone all weekend?” he asks. She nods imperceptibly. She's moisturizing her hands, not entirely focused on him. He's not entirely sure when things became this domestic all of a sudden but things kind of got ahead of him. “Even Sunday?”

It comes out as a barely contained whine. He does think it's good for Noah to spend time with other kids his age, and Lord knows they'll enjoy the alone time, but they've never once missed brunch since he's been back.

She drops her hands, raises her eyebrows, “Rafa are you mad?”

“No,” why would he be mad? It's not a thing to get mad about and he's not even a parent or a guardian or whatever. He's… disappointed. Which everyone knows is worse. "I'll miss him a little. That's all.”

She grins. He imagines it's still a bit unbelievable to her that he's this into playing his part of it. He's surprised by it, too. He doesn't do the best job, he knows, but he also knows she appreciates the effort.

“Look at you,” she reaches over, caresses his face with her thumbs. “All attached and everything.”

He stops his lip from curling into a smile. He clasps her wrists in his hands and runs his thumbs over the undersides. She shakes out of his grasp to lie down.

He follows suit, and she's lying with her leg over his waist, clutched to his side.

“So,” he asks, drawing circles along her arm, “what do people do when the kids aren't home? I'd take you to the Rainbow Room but somehow I think that's too fancy.”

She laughs against his chest. Her fingers play along his rib cage. “Baseball game, hot dog might be nice.”

She's joking - teasing, squabbling. She knows he hates baseball. But she doesn't keep pressing so maybe he's wrong, maybe she really would like to listen to a bunch of drunk people yelling at professional athletes on a Friday night. He'd rather go to a hair band concert and judge everyone's outfits.

“You like baseball?” He asks before he thinks about phrasing the question better. It gets her attention.

She looks up, using the hand at his chest as leverage.

“You don't?” She seems slightly surprised. Hadn't they talked about this?

“I've told you my Little League performances were a disaster, but I'll go if you want.”

He'll hate every goddamned second but he'll go for her. If she's with him he can bear pretty much anything. Maybe even a whole evening of baseball.

She isn't fooled. She smiles, puts her head back down on his chest.

“While watching you attempt to be interested does sound very enjoyable,” she teases, he's glad his discomfort is so amusing to her. “I'm sure you’ll think of something nice and simple to do so we won't be too tired to have some fun after.”

That's beginning to become a pattern - lots of banter and flirting, electricity in the air, and then passing out before they can get to the good stuff. He's not complaining, exactly. This contentment, this domesticity, is very, very nice and more than he ever hoped for. But his dick isn't exactly happy about it either.

Apparently she's feeling the same way.

“We could have some fun now,” he suggests, knowing full well that the even breathing, the relaxed hand, the drooping eyelids, all mean she's close to falling asleep.

“Sure,” she yawns, and is promptly out like a light. He laughs, presses a kiss to her forehead, closes his eyes.

He muses that this part is almost better. It's the part he never really allowed himself to dream about. It's the part that makes the fun all the more … fun. But he's not going to kid himself either, they're both ready for a proverbial roll in the hay and and her sexual frustration may be getting to her a little. He'll make it up to her.

He's thinking about picnics and running as he feels himself drift off. Unfortunately he just dreams of knights again. Well, knights who look remarkably like Liv and armor that magically tears away just by looking at it.

* * *

 When he wakes up in the morning he's on his back with half of her body over him. His shirt has ridden up and her right hand is on his bare stomach. Apparently during sleep they'd both had some of this fun.

Or they just moved. A lot. It had nothing to do with visions of her mounting him like her -- steed.

“Morning,” she looks up, chin nestled in his chest, hand running in circles at his stomach. He also feels himself nestled between her legs. His dick already at attention.

She notices. “And hello to you too, counselor.”

She moves her right leg so she's no longer straddling him. He's both relieved and disappointed.

They both look down to confirm what he feels. His morning wood is still in full force.

“Sorry Liv,” he groans, running a hand over his eyes. “It's just - morning."

He's honestly surprised this is the first time it's happened, but a series of vivid dreams about your hot ass bed partner will exacerbate a sticky situation.

She doesn't seem to mind. “I'm not complaining,” she hasn't taken her eyes off of him. Her tongue darts between her lips and he swears she's worrying the bottom one. “I can take care of it for you if you want.”

_Explicit verbal consent._

She's so gorgeous and amazing and he's so fucking frustrated because they do not have time.

He grabs her hand, brings it up to his mouth. Hoping he's communicating just how much he's up for it and just how much it bothers him that they can't. “I don't think we can. Lucy's supposed to be here soon and there's breakfast and showers and getting dressed.”

She raises one eyebrow. He's pretty sure she's thinking of offering a dual shower and he knows he can't deny her that.

Noah definitely won't be getting a packed lunch if that happens.

“You're right,” she sighs. “Damn.”

“We'll make it up to each other.”

He's hoping to make it up to her tonight and tomorrow and maybe even Sunday. He just has to think of somewhere not too fancy to go first. There is always Forlini's but they're in a bit of a rut - no, not a rut. He was just hoping to wine and dine and thoroughly romance her.

He'll think of something.

* * *

He takes a shower while she gets Noah up, and manages to will down his situation through cold water and thinking about policies. They really need a place with two showers. They could take one together but he would like to get to work eventually. Not that Chet would notice he's gone.

Everyone who visits would notice.

_They need a place?_

His brain is getting ahead of itself yet again. Maybe he should talk to her about a schedule for visiting his place or some other way to convince Noah it isn't a sleepover every time. Though that has to do with the air mattress he has to set up in his study. He was thinking of the dinosaur bed for that reason, but it wouldn't fit.

Not with the desk and bookshelves and he needs those. But if he moves in here he has no work space.

He really, really needs to slow down. Take this at her pace. At least, don't make these sorts of plans until after his mother pisses her off enough that she wants to leave him.

Oh, so that's why he avoided asking her about visiting with Lucía last night. His stomach clenches, his heartbeat slows, he swallows saliva. At least his erection is gone now.

He gets out, towels off, stops his Depression Era line of thinking. He's just… preparing himself for the worst case scenario. If you prep for the worst you're prepared for anything else.

That's probably not even true, but it makes him feel better.

At least that's what he tells himself as he gets dressed.

* * *

When he enters the kitchen Noah is animatedly explaining that Victoria is his bestest friend in the whole wide world because she has the best crayons. He makes a mental note to get him a better set of crayons.

Olivia takes a shower while he helps pack lunch for the three of them. Maybe when Noah's on a school break they can have a picnic at lunchtime one day. Maybe they can have a picnic for brunch next week.

Maybe it's October and he's being absurd.

What is wrong with him? He hates outside. He's almost killed himself trying to jog so many times he should be afraid of the park entirely.

Being happy makes you stupid and brave and ridiculous, doesn't it?

Olivia emerges from the shower and when she tries to help Noah get dressed he insists he can do it himself. That's partially his fault because they've been picking out outfits the night before.

He doesn't always go with them and they have more than once had to help him with jeans, but he thinks it's helping the boy with independence. It also buys him a little bit of time in the mornings. Buys them both a little bit of time.

“So,” she leads, starting the coffee ( _Esp_ _resso,_ you _fancy snob_ she admonishes every time he starts to call it coffee.) “With all of our free time this weekend, do you want to take me to a weird play about AIDS or something?”

She's never been into theater or literature. He's surprised she even knows there are weird plays about AIDS. Maybe she listens when he talks sometimes.

He leans against the counter, “You hate my weird plays.”

“I do not.” She lies. Exaggerates, he corrects himself. Is ignorant of them more like. “ I don't understand why you're interested, but maybe you can try and convince me.”

She's fiddling with the milk frother, taking way too much time to hit buttons he knows are practically second nature at this point. She's nervous, uncomfortable. Why would he not want her there? He's only ever not invited her because she'd hate it the whole time. Not because he doesn't want her to go.

If she wants to watch a weird AIDS play he'll give her one -

“So you're willing to sit through six hours about the American experience, faith, and homosexuality through the lens of the AIDS crisis?”

It's more like seven and a half but details aren't that important when you have no intention of actually following through.

She nearly loses the grip on her mug. He remains in place, trying not to show his amusement entirely.

“Six hours?” she looks up, obviously assuming he's joking. He is, but not about the running time.

“Yes,” he answers, sipping his own coffee.

She closes both eyes, takes a deep breath, “Okay?” she answers. It's nowhere near okay with her. She wants to do something else she's too afraid to ask him for. He's told her he'd be willing to go to a dumb baseball game. He might be able to down enough beer to sit through one.

“We don't have to do _Angels in America_ ,” he doubles down. “I've seen it anyway. We can do the Henriad.”

He's seen _Angels in America_ several times. If he thinks about it she'd probably actually enjoy it, but definitely not this weekend. She definitely doesn't want to watch a play this weekend. Let alone two or four.

He doesn't actually want to this weekend either.

“What's that?” She's genuinely curious. Oh honey.

“The four plays detailing Henry V’s history and life.” He answers helpfully.

“Four… plays?” She asks with such a tone of pain he almost takes pity on her and admits he's just teasing. Almost. “About King Henry the Fifth?”

“Well they aren't all about him exactly, but they're chronological and characters overlap. They do all four across a few days. It's Shakespeare so you know it's excellent.” He piles on. There isn't even a production of any of the histories this season. The Public did Hamlet in the park over the past summer but that's the closest thing. “You want to go?”

There's a long pause, she makes a pained expression. “Okay,” ekes out of her.

He smiles, “Liv, you know I'm joking right?”

“You are?” she's relieved. He feels slightly bad for needling her, but only slightly.

“I mean the Henriad is a thing but I'm not making you sit through it for me.” He should admit there isn't even a production, there hasn't been one in years because it's expensive and exhausting for everyone involved.

“I would though. I don't mind.”

She very definitely minds.

“Yes you do. But let's go with something easier, like _Les Misérables_ or _Miss Saigon_.”

“Aren't those both long and sad?”

“We started at six hours…”

“Okay,” she sighs.

It's then he realizes that she never actually wanted to go to a play, or a musical. Just like he never actually wanted to go to a baseball game. She's offering as a gesture - like his pretending he'd be fine if she didn't want him in Noah's life that much. She's offering to step out of her comfort zone to make him happy.

She doesn't need to. At least, not on the one weekend they've had without Noah in forever. Maybe she just wants to relax

“Or,” he pushes off from the counter, moves closer to her. “Do you want to order take out and lie on the couch all weekend?”

She smiles, moves to put her mug in the dishwasher.

“I was hoping for sex with some take out when necessary but I'm not picky really,” she answers nonchalantly. As if this wasn't her whole idea from the outset. Devil woman.

“You're not picky about the take out or the sex?” He's still hoping he heard her correctly.

She shrugs, taking his mug from his hands and placing it with hers. “All I need is you.”

She's still facing the counter so he can't see her face, but she's saying more than she wants to admit. She's not picky about what she does with him.

“That wasn't even snarky. Are you feeling all right?”

“We can go to your dumb Shakespeare okay.”

She still hasn't turned around, he senses the tension in her shoulders. The squabbling went too far. Or it was the wrong time for it.

“Olivia,” he wraps his arms around her at the waist, leans his forehead against her neck, inhales deeply. She reaches behind and puts her hand on the back of his head. She sighs.

This is nice. He thinks. This is exactly what I wanted.

What he's always wanted.

He kisses her shoulder, pulls her back against his chest slightly. “All I need is you, too.”

He's running his hands over her stomach when her phone goes off. Damn it.

She reaches for it in her pocket and seems disappointed with the message's contents. Maybe he has enough time to make her feel better before Lucy gets here and Noah gets done figuring out what shade of blue he wants today. If she doesn't insist on paying him back immediately he has enough time. Though he will have to get creative - considering how close Noah’s room is and how loud she can be.

“How about we compromise and I take you out somewhere not crazy fancy,” he leads as she turns around, putting the phone back in her pocket. “And then we can come back here and pretend not to be worried about Noah between bouts of mind numbing, toe curling -”

“All right counselor,” she throws up a hand for him to stop. But she's smiling so he knows she's up for it later. “That’ll have to wait until this evening. Carisi just texted that another victim of Carson's came forward.”

He's not sure she should be telling him that, but since he's already involved in this case it should be fine as long as she doesn't tell him details.

“Okay,” he nods, “I'll text you later.”

“You good seeing him off to Lucy?” she asks, hands at his chest.  

He furrows his brows, settles his hands at her waist. “Of course.”

She doesn’t move. He knows all the procedures for before school at this point. Lunch is almost ready, but he’s not going to push her out the door if she has something to say.

“Rafa -” she smiles, leaning forward to place her hands at his neck. “When you say you’ve seen Angels in America before, how many times are we talking?”

“Just a couple,” _With this company_ he silently adds. He does have a job and a sex life (or a hanging out with his best friend and the love of his life talking about sex life). “I don't have unlimited time you know. Between work and you guys.”

“And your mother and Fiona,” she rolls her eyes. She’s teasing. He could do this all day, but, alas, her job is important and school is important and what would Lucy think if she walked in on them making out? She’d clear her throat discreetly and then text him a bunch of eggplant emojis later.

“These things are both work,” he makes to unclasp her hands from his neck, then kisses her forehead. “And don't you need to get to yours?”

She stares at him for a second until it registers why he disentangled himself.

“Damnit,” she shakes her head, grabs the lunch he’s made. “Text me the place okay? And what to wear.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek. Then his lips. She lingers too long staring. He’s about to push her out the door when she shakes her head again, kisses his cheek again.

“Love you,” she yells, almost as an afterthought, as she slips out the door.

_Love you_. It’s been three months and it’s already casually slipping off the tongue from both of them. Maybe meeting his mother won’t be so bad.

Really it’s nearing seven years at this point but saying these things out loud has come very easily.

This part is technically new but it doesn’t really feel like it.

* * *

Lucy arrives shortly after. He sees Noah off.

He grabs a coffee from the stand outside his office building. He only had one cup at Liv's.

New York City's preeminent political strategist is sitting in his office when he gets there. Chet is nowhere to be found. He’s probably off filming YouTube videos of his skateboard.

He's dealt with enough of Fiona's antics at this point not to be entirely shocked, but he still loses his grip on the coffee cup he's holding. He manages to save it before it falls completely to the floor.

“You really should lock your door at night,” the man speaks, his lilting accent betraying his rotten core, “There’s no telling what kind of bad things I could have done in here.”

“Thanks for the head’s up,” It’s not breaking and entering if the door was unlocked, he reminds himself before he starts trying to threaten pressing charges. He puts the coffee down and slides around the man. “What’s the going rate for your unsolicited advice? Ten percent of non-existent ad buys?”

“Oh the first time is free,” the man smirks, placing his phone in his jacket pocket. “I do not have much time this morning but I was sent to assure your support for this schools proposal.”

“I'm not sure why anyone thinks they need my support,” He says, sitting behind his desk.

“Sarah, for some reason, is quite enamored of you.”

Ah, Sarah, the author of said Safe Schools Initiative. He doesn't know why she didn't just come over here herself, but city councilors are as busy as counselors at points.

“Tell Sarah I am not interested,” he answers, hoping that will dissuade the man.

It doesn't work. “Oh not like that compañero.”

That's also not what he meant either. They also are not and will never be _chums_ _._ “She read that thing you did with Chris Drayton and now she claims you are a policy expert.”

That _thing_ is his work fixing protections for asylum seekers. He doesn't like being reminded of his time away, especially now. He's not entirely sure that's not what the demon in his office was going for.

“I haven't read her proposal yet,” he snaps. Lies more like. He's read most of it and has been finding very nice excuses not to do what other people want him to.

“Well read it so I don't have to be in your office any more,” he responds, looking disgustedly at the ceiling. “I do not like it here. It’s stuffy.”

He resists the urge to tell him to leave because he's currently walking out the door. He doesn't even tell him to have a nice day.

He stops suddenly and turns around.

“Have you ever thought of running for office?”

Yes, but not now. Not anymore. That dream died with, well, that desire is dead.

“No,” he states, looking at his phone for a text that doesn't exist. It's the only time in his life he's wished for a dumb cat meme from Carisi.

He's met with a stone-faced expression.

“Good to know,” he’s almost to the door when he turns back. “The going rate is twenty percent of ad buys, but I’m willing to give you a discount when you change your mind.”

He’s not changing his mind, but he’s, god help him, intrigued, “And why ever would you give me a discount?”

“One, because I like the challenge. Two, because when Sarah likes somebody she is usually right,” he smiles, shakes a finger at nothing in particular. “This is only part of the reason she is going to be El Presidente.”

“Of what?”

“Estados Unidos.”

“Well I certainly wouldn't want to run afoul of the future president of the United States.”

He's not sure if Sarah's biggest fan here is delusional or just evil (possibly both), but he definitely thinks he's taking this exaggeration a bit too far.

“Mark my words, Rafí,” No one calls him Rafí besides his mother. “You put your support behind this proposal and the rest of your life is set. You will be going places you never dreamed. I have big plans for her.”

“I’m sure you think so. I’ll let you know.”

The man nods and finally, thankfully, blessedly exits his office.

He’s going to have to find a way not to support this policy. Unfortunately for him that means he has to finish reading it.

The only thing he wants set about the rest of his life is squabbling with Liv until 85. Speaking of which, he still needs to figure out what to do for their date tonight. She'll be fine with lying on the couch, eating take out, but she also wants to go to a baseball game.

It's a little cold for baseball but he thinks he has an idea. He won't even need to get tickets or take out. He can even work in the hot dogs.

Romance never required wining and dining. Something simple will, in fact, work for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up stopping this chapter before I originally planned to so hopefully it doesn't come across like nothing is happening. :) Also let me know if I royally forked up the Spanish, my grammar is horrible in both English and Spanish.


	3. She bursts with a kind of madness, my well-ordered ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafa makes good on his plans for a simple date, and... a weekend alone ensues. Also some other plot-like things but I'm sure you don't care at this point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the up in rating and I'm still not cool with smut so y'know...

For a Friday, it’s relatively quiet. No texts from Liv, no memes from Carisi, no visits from Fiona. The most excitement all day was Chet crashing face first into his desk. He told him to take the rest of the day off and to visit the doctor to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. He’s pretty sure he did not visit anything.

He imagines Liv and Carisi are busy with their new victim. He only halfway misses it - being able to help, to get justice. He doesn’t really miss this part. He almost texts one of the squad asking if they need assistance, but they’ll ask if they need it. It’s not his place to insert himself.

He could finish reading the Safe Schools Initiative instead of looking up it’s author trying to find reasons for her not to be qualified for this. He could break up the monotony by calling any of these people but honestly, anyone could walk in.

He gets a call from the Deputy Chief of Narcotics. He wants some input on enforcement alternatives and recovery programs. He sets the meeting for after lunch.

Fiona texts at 11, sends him a screenshot of Chet’s Instagram Story about his “wicked baller ride to the ER” ( _Please tell me you pushed him into the desk_ she goads.) He’s glad to see he’s fine and actually did take his advice to see a medical professional, even if he is an idiot.

He eats his packed lunch and decides he's not completely terrible a cooking since he puts together a nice sandwich, thank you.

He shoots a text to Liv with the address of where to meet while he dicks around on his computer trying not to get mad at the news. He should turn off the push notifications from every single media outlet in the greater metropolitan area, but it’s part of his job to know what’s going on. He settles on just leaving it at the Times and the Wall Street Journal.

He’s in his apps screen, wholesale deleting icons that he will probably end up adding back in a few days, when Liv responds.

_[You're taking me to a church?]_

He chuckles at that. She’s never been a fan. He knows. He’s not doing that to her. Doesn’t she know him better than that?

_[We’re not going in. It's just an easy meeting place.]_

_[I'm intrigued… you're not doing one of those godawful bus tours like we haven't lived here for decades are you?]_

Not exactly, he thinks, confidence faltering. She doesn't need to be impressed, he reminds himself. Maybe she’s had a bad day. Maybe they just need to sit on the couch and pretend to watch whatever reruns on Friday nights. Holding her in his arms while she sips a glass of wine sounds great, actually.

_[No. If you're not up for it after your day let me know and I'll grab something.]_

_[After today I need you to take my mind off of it.]_

He doesn't know if she meant that as a double entendre or he's reading too much into it but he can certainly try.

_[I'll do my best.]_

_[And the outfit?]_

_[What you wore to work should be fine.]_

_[We really must be roughing it.]_

Maybe, maybe not. He has a compromise in mind. Hopefully she sees it as such.

He smiles, tells her to try for six but if she can’t make it he’ll understand. Just let him know. He’ll be disappointed, sure, but he gets it.

* * *

The narcotics meeting goes well. There's no reason it shouldn't. Except sometimes when he deals with cops he has to remind himself the higher ups love their statistics. Their COMPStat data that shows B&Es decreased by 45% on a street in South Bronx on Tuesdays when it rained. There's a sort of validity to it. He can deal with it. It's just not how he's used to communicating with the NYPD and it's an adjustment.

Fiona texts around 4 that she's heard through the grapevine narcotics is impressed with him. Somewhere in there he lets slip that Noah is gone all weekend. She just responds with “you're welcome.”

The nerve.

He packs up his laptop around 4:30, and makes a dash to his apartment to drop it off. As he's waiting for the uptown train he shoots a text to Liv to make sure she can still make it. She tells him there’s no way she’s letting him get out of this after he’s been so cagey.

He gets a group meme from Carisi while he’s riding. Something with a dog wanting to go home for drinks because it’s Friday. Rollins quickly fires back a message to stop it. Carisi just sends another picture. He hopes the inevitable back and forth doesn’t drain his battery again.

She's waiting for him outside the church when he gets there. She raises an eyebrow.

“Did you willingly take the subway and survive?”

“It was fine,” he mutters. “Sticky, but fine.”

She’s still leaning against the wall, unimpressed with whatever she thinks he has planned. “Are you taking me on a subway tour where we try to avoid all the kids going clubbing?”

Gross. He’s not taking someone on a tour of New York City. Especially his … friend who’s lived here for her entire life.

“I was planning on walking around Central Park,” he gestures across the street, “but that does sound fun.”

It doesn’t. He’s teasing. She knows. She’s still unimpressed.

“Your big date is to walk around Central Park?” She doesn't budge.

“I was trying to be simple,” he shrugs, joining her against the wall, “and it seemed like a nice day.”

She smiles, “As long as it doesn’t end up with me running down a perp I’m game.”

She pushes off the wall, finally.

“Well I make no guarantees as I cannot tell the future,” she rolls her eyes at him, “but I can run down the perp for you.”

“As if you wouldn't get winded even wearing proper shoes.” She makes a disgusted expression at his feet. He's about to offer to order something and go back to her place. Or his. But she's already half across the street.

“Let's get this over with,” she stews, stopping in front of Tavern on the Green. “Is someone rolling by with a change of clothes because you think of everything?”

“I'm not taking you to Tavern on the Green, Liv. We're walking around Central Park like I said.”

“I just wanted a hot dog, Rafa,” she whines.

“They have hot dogs.” He smiles, pointing to the vendor cart a few feet away from where they're standing. “Let's get some since you're grumpy and then go over there to the baseball fields while we eat.”

She's staring at him. Her brow is furrowed, but she's not moving. He sighs. “I was trying to compromise and get you your hot dogs and baseball while I get to look at some art, but I can probably get us in at Forlini's or something -”

She steps in front of him, places her hands on his chest, “You're ridiculous.”

“I'm ridiculous?” He settles his hands on her waist and looks into her eyes. “That's a funny way of saying thank you.”

He can feel her stifling her laughter, “I do apologize. I didn't know how else to express myself.”

She’s running her hands down his chest now, that same expression from this morning on her face like he's some sort of snack. She can thank him later. She's going to.

He takes her hand in his. She looks up.

“Kissing is okay,” he suggests with a shrug.

She smiles, a genuine one with teeth that she isn't attempting to suppress in any sort of way. When she smiles like that he kind of loses consciousness. Always has. Suspecting, knowing it's because of him? Well maybe the suffering was a little worth it if this is his reward.

He snaps out of it. Liv isn't a reward. This isn't an epic saga meant to teach the French about the dangers of dragons. Sometimes he just finds it difficult to believe this is his life now.

She moves her fingers between his, then places her other hand to the back of his neck.

“You really are a romantic aren't you?” she murmurs, putting their entwined fists over his heart.

“Nah,” he lies. If it were up to him he'd have a poem commissioned for her and then set to music. But she's not into that kind of thing. “I just listen to you.”

“I think you're also a sap,” she sighs, fingers playing with the ends of his hair and probably messing up his coat collar. It's a testament to how much he loves her that he doesn't mind.

“Maybe, but you like it,” he retorts, splaying his free hand against her back.

She doesn't respond. Just releases his hand and moves her free one up to his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. Then leans forward and kisses him.

It takes him a few minutes to realize they're not only in public but in a very prominent walking path in a very busy area of a world famous park. And while he's not exactly… opposed to displays, the last thing he needs is to get cited for indecent exposure. He's not even all that confident he's her boyfriend. He assumes she'd be okay with that designation, and he assumes they're exclusive, but he's been burned by assumptions many times.

“Liv,” he breaks away, “maybe we should eat before we deplete all of our energy.”

“You're right,” she says, breaking away from his embrace. “My sugar must be getting low if I'm making out with you in public.”

He can't begin to express how disappointed he is to hear that, even if he kind of agrees with her.

They grab the hot dogs. Then they move to sit in the stands to watch some baseball game the players are taking very seriously. To the point where he assumes they must have some money on the outcome. Liv is following every second avidly. He determines they're supposed to be rooting for the team in the blue shirts.

She makes friends with the girl sitting next to her. She explains it's an intraoffice league of some bank. Liv tells her her son loves baseball. Maybe she'll bring him next week.

He feels… shut out. Like he doesn't belong or that he's not actually in her life as much as he thought he was.

He offers to toss her hot dog trash. 

She looks confused but hands it to him, then turns to her friend and keeps talking. Maybe this is how she feels at plays and he's just being an ass.

He tosses the wrapper, gathers himself. Reminds himself it's not within his rights to feel annoyed she didn't invite him to an outing with Noah. She's still shocked he wants to have anything to do with Noah.

He stops the dark thought. The one that whispers she never suggests they do things with Noah or that he watch him. He's always the one with those suggestions. It's because she's used to doing this on her own, because she's not sure he wants to and doesn't want him to feel guilty about saying no, because she doesn't trust him to.

Because she doesn't want him to.

He knows they're exclusive. At least, he doesn't know when she'd have time to be seeing other people, and he feels like she would have told him if she were. She loves him. He knows. He believes her wholeheartedly.

It doesn't mean she believes him.

It doesn't mean she wants to.

So he's not doing as good a job at suppressing the bad thoughts as he wanted. She'll just turn him down for the offer to meet his mother because they aren't ready for that. He'll keep being her last option. It's certainly better than anything he ever thought he deserved.

He shakes his head, attempting to snap himself out of it, then sits back next to her. He tries to take her hand but she's far too into the game to notice.

This was an awful idea.

He takes out his phone and reads the exchange between Rollins and Carisi. Chuckles, then puts it back in his pocket. She doesn't notice. He could probably be reading COMPStat figures and she wouldn't notice.

But it's rude to be on your phone when you're supposed to be on a date so he resists the urge to take it out again.

When the game is over she waves goodbye to her new buddy. He starts walking back toward where they came in.

“Where are you going?” He hears her behind him. “I thought you wanted to look at art.”

“I made a mistake.” He stops but doesn't move toward her. She doesn't budge either. “I should have listened to you and let you have your takeout on the couch. I'll take you home.”

“I'm perfectly capable of getting home on my own.” She snaps, confirming he's made a serious miscalculation.

He closes his eyes. Breathes through his nose. Counts to ten. Walks toward her. “I'm sorry I keep pushing this more public when you aren't ready. I forget how private you are sometimes and it isn't fair to you to expect more. I'll see you Wednesday for spaghetti night.”

She's staring at him, disbelief marks her features. Great. He's fucked the whole thing up and he didn't even need his mother's help. She'll be so pleased. “Or we'll take a real break and I'll let you text me.”

She's still staring at him. Mouth slightly open. She isn't making sounds.

So somehow this went from her wanting to fuck him all weekend to a breakup of a relationship he doesn't even know how to label. Life is nothing if not ridiculous. “Liv, can you say something please?”

She doubles back, shakes her head. “I'm just trying to figure out where in that brilliant head of yours you work your way into these things.”

“Olivia,” he starts, but she grabs his hand and places it over her heart.

“I love you okay,” she searches his eyes. “I love you and I can't stop and I don't want to stop and if you want to leave me again you're going to have to let me have my fifth amendment rights.”

“Well,” he tries to remove his hand but she just clutches. She never was one to let anything go. Least of all him. “You don't want to make out with me, and you don't want to introduce me to people, and you want to bring Noah here by yourself. I think it points to a pattern. If there's someone else you can tell me.”

He’s pissed her off with the last part. He kind of can’t believe he let himself say it out loud. She drops his hand and glares at him.

“First of all, Harvard Hot Shot,” she glowers. Her hand is at her waist. He’d laugh if this were a different situation. “I'm not sure when I would be having time to meet anyone else. I didn't mention all of us going with Noah because I know how much you hate baseball. As for Elaine, she's a Republican and I didn't want a debate about something.”

He’s dubious.

“You sussed that she's a Republican in thirty seconds,” he raises an eyebrow.

“In one minute when she told me she worked for the Family Research Council,” she raises her own eyebrow. “How did you miss that?”

It’s probably a good thing he did. He’s … not a fan of the Family Research Council. They definitely wouldn’t be a fan of his. She was right not to introduce him as anything to Elaine. Sometimes he wishes he had Liv’s ability to let these types of things go for thirty minutes of personal enjoyment, but then he wouldn’t be himself, would he?

He cocks his head, allows himself to smile. He’s an idiot. He always was one when it came to Olivia Benson.

“I may have been distracted looking at you,” he mutters. He's not proud of the fact that he was definitely staring at her ass as she was walking up the bleachers and she knew it.

She doesn’t seem mad about it.

“So I was right?” she insists.

“Like you ever aren't,” he rolls his eyes.

“And as for making out with you,” she smiles, reaching out and running her hands in his hair. “I always want to. Always have a little. That’s the problem.”

Oh boy. So she’s saying when she’s hungry she has a problem controlling herself. He’s certainly not intending to stop her.

His hands are running up and down her back. It’s probably a little too intimate. He’s not sure he cares.

“So you wouldn't be opposed to going back home together?”

His hands are inching closer to her butt. He's pressing his luck but she doesn't seem to mind.

“No,” she fiddles with his collar, “but you can show me some of these statues first.”

He rolls his eyes again and leans forward to kiss her quickly. This time when he holds out his hand she grabs it.

Talking about your problems does seem to work out okay if you love each other. Maybe he should try it more.

* * *

They’re passing the carousel when she suggests taking Noah after it opens back up. He apparently cannot control his face because she stops him a few feet later.

“Are you okay with me making plans with Noah for next summer?”

“I’m okay with you making plans for the next 35 years, Liv.”

Shit. He thought he had better control of his mouth than that. He’s been so careful not to push and prod and now he's gone and done it. He’s about to apologize and tell her he’s exaggerating, but she knows he wouldn’t mean that.

“35 years?” She looks up, eyes shining. “You wanted to break up with me back there but you’re making plans for 35 years?”

He never wanted to have this conversation next to the Central Park Carousel, but Central Park hot dogs seem to do a number on him. “I don’t **_want_ ** to do anything but be a family, but I don’t know what you want. So my brain works overtime to self-destruct before you can hurt me okay?”

“Rafa,” she takes both of his hands, motioning to sit down on a bench. “Are you laboring under some sort of misapprehension that I’m not committed to this relationship?”

“We haven’t exactly talked about it.” He imagines his face looks sort of like a drowned cat by the raised eyebrows and piteous laughter she gives him.

“I kind of thought when you told someone you loved them and half of their ridiculously expensive clothes are taking up half of your closet that the commitment was implied.”

She’s looking down at their hands. Her thumb is brushing against his. She’s nervous. So’s he.

“Relationships aren’t implicit, but I gather your meaning,” he moves his hands, and cups her jaw, “If I asked you to be my girlfriend would that be too sappy?”

“If I asked why you thought I wasn’t would that be too sassy?” she clutches his wrist and nestles into his hand. Man, maybe she’s right that they wasted time.

“I assumed, then backtracked.” He releases her and shrugs. “Good to know.”

“While we’re sitting down is there anything else that’s bothering you?”

She leans against the back of the bench and plays with the sleeve of his coat.

Well here’s an opportunity if he ever saw one, “My mother is insistent on meeting you for dinner.”

She narrows her gaze. “I've met your mother, remember? She told me I drove you a little bit crazy.

His mother certainly knows how to make an impression.

“You still do,” but in a good way, he adds silently. Always in a good way really. “She wants to meet you as my girlfriend, as well as Noah.”

“How about next Friday, instead of me taking him to the ball fields?”

He wants to tell her it sounds perfect, because it does, but he feels he should let her know a few things first.

“I should let you know that it is to be at my place and I am to make you something to impress you. My mother is not a person to be trifled with.”

He might also be trying to get her to get him out of this.

She just clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Rafa, I deal with criminals, lawyers and a six year old boy every day, not to mention the likes of you. I am the one not to be trifled with. As for the food, just make sure you have some eggs and bacon so I can save us when it goes wrong.”

He wants to tell her that his problem is apparently pasta, not what he is going to be making, but he’s not about to argue with her without evidence. Besides, there are bigger proverbial fish to metaphorically fry.

“You should be way more worried about her than you are.”

“Sure,” she answers, clearly not in the least worried. “Is there anything else up your butt?

Yes, but it isn’t important. He tells her anyway.

“For the record, the right to face your accuser is in the fourth amendment, not the fifth,” he explains.

“I was thinking you were denying me my rights to life and liberty without due process,” so she really does listen to him at times. “but you’re smarter than me.”

He’d say she wasn’t but she’s not going to hear of that. Different people are intelligent about different things. You learn from each other and you grow. At least, that's the goal anyway. It's been his experience.

“And for the record,” her hand grabs his again, she looks up into his eyes to emphasize she means it. “I still would very much like to squabble with you until I’m 85.”

He’s agog, aghast. She can’t possibly know exactly what he was referencing. She didn’t care about him that way then. “You remember?”

“Of course I remember. I felt so stupid for saying that out loud and then you took it as teasing.”

“Well there’s where you’re wrong,” he’d meant it when he said it would be nice. For multiple reasons and at multiple levels of relationship status. “and I will forgive you as long as you don’t make me take him to this dumb, Trump Organization-run carousel.

She smirks, shakes her head, obviously amused he's injecting politics into a carousel, “He’d be sad they aren't real horses anyway.”

“Well back in the day they were real horses.”

“What?” She clearly doesn’t believe him.

“They used to walk the horses in a circle and people would ride them. Then there was one under the carousel pulling it. The ASPCA was not pleased.”

She just shakes her head again. “I’m sure. And since you've been so, so accommodating and collaborative today, let's go visit your Shakespeare place.”

“That's pretty far away, but we can do the Literary Walk since it’s on the way to where I wanted to go.”

“Okay,” she answers. They both get up, she grabs his wrist. “Next time you get all up in your head about us you talk to me about it okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

He takes her through The Mall, jokes about the walk containing statues of four writers and a genocidal colonialist. She laughs and tells him he can save his Columbus rants for Columbus Day. They both know he will not.

It’s the Bethesda Terrace that he wanted to see. More specifically, the angel and her blessing the waters of the fountain. He tells Liv how it’s supposed to represent the angel who blessed the healing pool at Bethesda in the Gospel of John. How the statue was the only one in the original plans of the park and how it’s designer was the first woman to receive a public commission in New York City.

He realizes he’s been going on for awhile when she clutches his arm. “Sorry, I’m boring you and droning on, aren’t I?”

“No, you really aren’t,” she laughs, “I always thought this was the place people met for drugs and random hookups. I didn’t know all that history. It’s funny, how suddenly someone causes you to re-evaluate something you were so certain of, you know?”

He does know. Very well. She flipped his entire world upside down, caused him to see the cracks in the scales of justice. To understand there were other ways to help people than retribution against an enemy. He knows very well how a new perspective alters your vision - colors your narrative. 

He smiles, he doesn’t have to tell her that’s exactly why he took her here. “If I’m being honest I also just like hearing you talk sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” he teases.

“When it’s interesting and not about tax reform,” she counters. “I think we should be getting home, don’t you? It’s pretty dark.”

He nods his head yes and leans forward, kissing her on the forehead. He thinks they’re finally healed. Well, as much as you can be healed at this age and with this much baggage.

* * *

He offers to stop somewhere to eat before the Uber driver arrives. She assures him she had enough food at the hot dog stand. He shrugs and gets in behind her. The driver must think they’re tourists because he asks about forty-five questions regarding where they’re from and what Central Park was like. He must be new because he takes them home the long way.

He normally wouldn’t mind. Except Liv is slowly inching her hand up his thigh and it’s getting more and more difficult to stop her. He still tips the kid because it’s the right thing to do and he’s happy and Liv would want him to.

Angelo greets them with a smile at the door, asks them how the espresso maker is treating them. Liv rolls her eyes and tells him they had to have a Millennial teach them how to use it.

They take the elevator up. He suspects the only thing keeping her hands off of him is the elderly woman joining them. Dorothy - Dot as she insists - tells them they are a nice young couple as they get off on Liv's floor. He doesn't imagine himself as being young, but she means well. He doesn’t know where Dot lives, but he’s hoping it’s the complete other side of the building given how much noise he’s anticipating both of them making.

They enter the apartment. They barely have their coats and shoes off before she pushes him against the wall and kisses along his neck.

He's anticipating her pushing him to the ground or moving things to a more comfortable location when she stops abruptly. She takes her vibrating phone out of her pocket and squeezes her eyes shut.

She answers the call. It’s Noah.

Or rather - Javi calling on behalf of Noah, who will not sleep because he wants the Night Night Song. Neither Javier nor Keith know the words. They should have anticipated this, he thinks.

She looks up at him apologetically. He just leans forward and kisses her cheek, smiling. He makes his way to the kitchen.

He takes the time she’s soothing Noah to check the fridge for breakfast ingredients. Aside from eggs and bread for toast, nothing interests him. He decides to order something to be delivered in the morning.

He’s finishing the checkout when her arms wrap around him from behind, kissing below his ear.

“I’m ordering breakfast for tomorrow since I don’t think we’ll want to go anywhere,” he tells her as he puts down the phone and turns around.

“Aren’t we confident?” She smirks, teasing him as if she wasn’t just about to fuck him in the entryway.

“Well I did mean sleeping,” he counters, hands against her back, “but you also did mention sex this morning.”

“I’m not complaining,” she mutters, chewing her bottom lip, “I kind of have a thing for it. Well, a thing for you definitely.”

She runs her hands down his chest and pushes him toward the counter. Lord help him. He has a thing for her too. “I'm not interested in sleeping right now. We haven't had sex in a week and I'm horny.”

She’s apparently past the pleasantries. He’s very much into it. Into her really. 

"A whole week,” he taunts, leaning against the counter and pulling her closer. “I didn't realize you'd be so randy when we started dating.”

“You like it when a woman takes charge. Admit it.”

If he was going to argue the bulge in his pants would probably work against him. “I definitely like it when you get all bossy and commanding.”

She grabs his head in both hands and kisses him fiercely, “So if I ask you to put that tongue of yours to better use would that be too nice?”

He doesn’t answer, just shifts their bodies so her back is to the counter. His hands are at her waist when he places kisses along her neck, returning her favor from earlier.

“Tongue,” she moans, though pulling him closer. “I said tongue.”

He stops, looks up, and smirks. If she wants to play this game he’ll play this game. “I’m getting to it.”

He grabs her by the waist and she instinctively claws for his shoulders. He then hoists her onto the counter.

“Here?” her eyes widen.

He moves his fingers to play with the button of her pants.

“Well we know it's clean,” he raises an eyebrow in challenge. A taunt about her continued nervous habits, “but you're the boss.”

He sees her debating internally, her mind trying to decide if this is proper. He’s suspects this will end like the kitchen table incident (falling on the floor laughing at each other), but she just smiles and shrugs.

“If you insist,” she murmurs. She’s definitely feeling adventurous tonight and he is definitely about to reward her for it.

He reaches forward and unbuttons her pants. He feels her hands against his as she pulls them down, shimmying out of them as much as she can in this position. It’s not as difficult to pull the underwear off.

She’s shaking. “You okay?” He looks up. They don’t have to do this.

“Yeah it's just -” Weird, overkill, ridiculous, his mind supplies. “Cold,” she finishes. “Why don't you come here and warm me up?”

He shakes his head at her bad joke. He can’t help the smile and laughter that erupts. She starts giggling as well.

She pulls her arm over her eyes. He kisses at her thigh. She looks down.

“I didn't realize you were going for that,” she reaches her hand down and runs it through his hair. She’s not telling him to stop but she seems nervous all of a sudden.  

“I'm merely following directions with regard to the tongue.” He rubs his hand over her leg, silently trying to calm her down and ask for permission. “I can adapt if you need.”

“You sure it's not a problem for your knees?”

“Just how old do you think I am, Liv?”

She rolls her eyes, settles back against the counter-top, “Get to work already then.”

He resumes kissing along her inner thigh, making his way to her center. When he gets there he kisses everywhere around her, but never once even skims her clit.

“God you're a fucking tease,” she whines, pulling him even closer. He looks up, takes his hand off of her leg and runs a finger up and down. She bucks immediately. He strums for awhile, kisses, sucks. He’s purposely not following directions and he doesn’t think she’s even noticed.

It’s not until he pushes a finger inside that she says anything.

“As enjoyable as this is, I believe I said to use your -”

She gasps as he runs his tongue slowly along her lower lips, then swirls her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she sighs, scraping her nails at his scalp. She moans as he starts suckling, licking in time as he thrusts his fingers.

He doesn't really know what she's saying but it does make him feel very nice that he gets her this worked up. He very much enjoys her enjoyment.

“Right there, oh God,” she screams as he finds the right place inside. Her climax hits shortly after. He keeps stroking as she comes down.

“Are you planning on spending all night down there?” She asks, pulling him up by the neck.

He looks up, swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. She’s very satisfied and he’s very proud of his work. He stands up and pulls her toward him, kissing her soundly.

“I could if you want,” he murmurs into her neck, "Are you complaining?"

“If I were complaining you would know,” she clutches his head and whines as he licks against her shoulder. “For example I am complaining that you have on far too many clothes.”

She pulls away, attempting to pull his shirt out of his waistband. He laughs against her. His hand is at her waist. “We can remedy that shortly,” he looks at her hands currently undoing his pants button. “Or you will.”

“Just trying to expedite the process,” she shrugs as she pulls down the zipper.

He catches her wrist. “Let's go to bed first.”

She gets off the counter, but leans in to kiss him again as soon as her feet are on the ground.

* * *

They barely make it out of the kitchen before his pants and boxers are off and he's about to back her against the wall. Bed plans are thus postponed.

He reaches down to pull a condom out of his discarded pants pocket. He had one in his wallet for … emergencies and may have moved it to his pocket this morning, just in case.

“Really?” She breathes, grabbing the wrapper from him.

“Just trying to be prepared,”

It’s an honest answer even if it seems presumptuous.

“Now you're a Boy Scout?”

“You were dropping a lot of hints, but if I've offended you…”

“Shut up.” She tears the foil off. They put the condom on together. He sinks inside. “I thought this was going to take all day. It almost did.” She mutters, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pushes further, using his hands against the wall as leverage.

“Here you were all hot and bothered about my preparation.”

“Certainly hot and bothered.” He hits deep within as he buries his face in her shoulder. “Rafa, Jesus."

“You close?” He asks, turning his head and meeting her eyes.

“Yeah but if you aren't -” he sees her swallow as he picks up the pace, then takes his left hand to play with her.

“Yes!” she screams as she falls against the wall and he groans out her name.

They both slide to the floor as he slips out of her. He has a brief, terrible thought that they may just christen every available surface in this apartment. He’s not about to be disappointed, though he is getting a bit too old for this.

“You wanna clean up and then come to bed?” she murmurs, panting, cradling his head to her shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing against the wall to help get off the floor, then holds out a hand to help her up. “One thing first though,” he grabs the back of her head and kisses her deeply. He breaks away to breathe, running his thumb against her cheek. “I love you, Liv.”

She smiles, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. “Love you, too.”

She pushes against him and turns around, making her way to her room.

* * *

He dips into the hallway bathroom to discard the condom. He makes a mental note to take out the trash before the weekend is over. Noah doesn’t have a habit of playing with garbage, but he certainly doesn’t want to answer questions about it if he suddenly gets curious.

He picks up her pants and underwear from the kitchen, as well as his phone from the counter. After he gathers his own clothing, he enters her bedroom.

She’s lying on top of the bed, her shirt half unbuttoned and her hand at her eyes. It’s an unholy sight and sinfully delectable and he will worship every inch of her. As long as nothing is wrong.

“You okay?” he asks, dropping the pile of clothes to the floor and kicking the door shut. He makes his way to the bed, placing the phone on the bedside table.

She leans toward him, smiling.

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “I’m better now I just got … winded. I don’t think the wall was the best idea after that much walking.”

“Or that little food,” he murmurs, helping her unbutton her shirt as he kisses along her clavicle.

“You ready to go again?”

“I'm just getting you naked. The rest is up to you.”

“Maybe you first,” she teases, rolling back her shoulders to pull her shirt off her body and unclasping her bra.

“Your mouth’s writing checks your body can't cash,” he mutters, throwing his own shirt to the wind.

“Is one of us Tom Cruise in this scenario?”

“You do seem to have a need for speed,” he pulls his undershirt over his head and tosses it behind him. Leaning forward to help pull her bra straps off her arms.

“I think I'm offended now.”

“Eres una diosa,” he murmurs, leaning over her to pull her nipple into his mouth.

“A goddess who sounds like Tom Cruise though,” she sighs, pulling him closer with her hands and running her feet along his calves.

He releases her, shakes his head, “do you want me to be romantic or to squabble about Top Gun?”

“Both?” She smiles, “but mostly to come up here and kiss me.”

He does, running his hands along her torso as he revels in this feeling. She sighs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she meets his eyes, “I'm just very happy.”

“Chemicals from the orgasm have been proven to do that,” he teases.

She doesn’t miss a beat, smirking as she runs her hands down his back. “I'm ready for another if you are.”

He shakes his head, reaches into her drawer, and notices two boxes as he pulls a condom out.

“Just how many times were you expecting to need one of these?” He mutters, falling to his back to ease it on. She stops his hand and moves over him.

“I like to be thorough,” she takes him into her hand and rolls the condom down. “And we don't have to use _all_ of them.

“And I'm the boy scout?” he snarks as she takes him into her mouth, licking along the underside. “Liv, come on,” he moans, motioning for her to stop.

“Well,” she releases him, straddles over his waist, “I was planning to.”

She sits over him, using her fingers to help guide his cock into her.

“I could do this all day,” she moans, rocking against him.

“I'm certainly not complaining.” He thrusts up, settling his hands against her hips. “Though I'm starting to think you're more into my dick than me.”

A slip-up, he thinks. She pierces his gaze, stops for a second, and adjusts her angle so he's hitting just so.

“It's a good dick,” she mutters, his shaft now deep inside. “But I promise I love you more.”

“A likely story.”

He reaches forward, thrums his pointer and middle fingers against her. It doesn’t take long for her breath to catch and to scream his name again. That triggers his climax.

She falls forward against him, kissing at his chest to reiterate her point. “I really do love you.”

“I know,” he sighs contently and pulls her closer into his chest. He runs his hands through her hair, kissing her temple.

After she's asleep he gently rolls her off of him, goes to the bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns and slips into bed it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

Being this happy will take some getting used to.

* * *

Saturday morning he wakes up with her fully on top of him, snoring soundly. He remembers shaking his head before falling back to sleep, cuddling her a bit closer.

A text alert wakes both of them up for real, but it's his and it's just Fiona. There’s also a notification the breakfast delivery will arrive in an hour. He lets her know.

Liv smiles, offers to make up for her inaction yesterday morning. He thinks they have time so he shakes his head yes.

She swirls and sucks and hollows cheeks, licks and gags. He can feel her smile forming when he starts to lose his composure. He shouts her name, almost as loud as she was last night. He's beginning to understand the expressiveness.

He's wondering how she has the energy this early when she reaches into her drawer and pulls out a condom. Rolls it over him and rides him to ecstasy. Maybe it is a good dick and he's glad she gets such pleasure out of using it.

She leans forward, shifts so she's leaning over him more than falling back. He rocks his hips forward. She screams obscenities. Maybe he does too. He hopes her neighbors are deep sleepers or she'll have to move soon. Especially after this.

He sees her breath start to hitch, following the way her chest rises and falls.

“Liv,” he whispers, her eyes. “I love you “

He knows she's about to say something when he reaches forward and fingers her clit. He picks up the pace and drives into her. She matches it.

He comes as she gasps, screaming out her orgasm over his name.

He's never going to be able to hear his name the same way.

* * *

If Angelo is amused by his state of undress as he answers the door he doesn’t let on. Ever the professional, the man just hands him a plastic sack with several thank yous pasted across the front. He makes a mental note to make sure he gets a very fat Christmas bonus.

Liv has put on a house robe that leaves very little to the imagination. It’s a testament to his hunger that they finish the meal. It’s a testament to how worn out they are that they just go back to bed after.

They fall asleep for a good twenty minutes before his phone goes off again.

_[It's not ok to ignore me.]_

Oh Fiona and her pestering.

_[Don't you have others to bother?]_

_[Yes, but you're the most fun.]_

It's possible she forgot about his plans. It's possible he didn't tell her the totality of them.

_[This is the first weekend she's been okay with leaving Noah and I'm trying to distract her. Can you leave me alone?]_

It's mostly that she doesn't care.

_[Meet me at Rigo’s for lunch and bring Olivia.]_

_[No.]_

He feels Liv's fingers playing at his chest, her feet running along his legs. He looks down.

“Who are you texting?”

It isn't an accusation. She's mostly curious.

“One of the valkyrie.”

She smirks, knowing exactly who it is.

“And you're texting another woman in my bed because?”

“Fiona does not count,” he clicks the screen off and puts the phone on the nightstand. He looks down at her, smiling. “Morning.” She smiles back.

He sees the panic flit across her features a few minutes after they've been staring at each other (Minutes? Seconds? Hours? Does it matter?).

He cups her jaw. “Liv, it's me. You can tell me.”

She winces, lays back down on his chest. “I know I made a lot of promises with regard to this weekend.”

He feels her tension. He doesn't know who she thinks he is that he'd have a problem with her doing her job. He rubs his hands against her back, attempting to soothe her.

“Did another victim come forward?”

He didn't see her check her phone but it's possible she did earlier.

“No, I just need to go over files. I think I missed something.”

“You,” he questions, hand splayed across her back. “Missing something?”

“Well I don't have you up my ass every five minutes so my work ethic has suffered.”

“And what a very fine ass it is,” he mutters, leaning forward and kissing at her neckline.

She smirks, moves to straddle him. He's in fucking heaven. “What did Fiona want?”

Mood killed.

“She insists on us joining her for lunch.”

She's kissing along his neckline now, running her hands over his chest. “Did you say no?”

He had, but he'd felt the phone vibrate several times after.

“I attempted,” he clutches her waist. She looks up at him.

“Well,” she falls forward, places her hands in his hair. “We can go to lunch and then drop by the precinct to pick up some files. If you don't mind.”

He doesn't mind the files but he does mind the Fiona.

“You're agreeing to meet her?”

He reminds himself that Olivia is intimidated by no one. He reminds himself that Fiona and Mamí actually aren't all that terrifying when you do what they want.

“I like Fiona,” she shrugs, hands at his shoulders, “Plus lunch sounds nice.”

“I can't imagine why anyone would like Fiona.”

It’s probably the same reason he kind of likes her and won’t admit it. She doesn’t take any shit from anyone and gets things done.

“I like her because she forced you to get your shit together and actually tell me.”

That is not what happened. She connived and colluded and berated until he had no choice but to cut her out of it entirely.

He didn't need her inserting herself into his life.

“I got my own shit together after she almost ruined everything.”

“If that's how you choose to see it I can't stop you. Let's finish up with this and then take a shower.” She pulls him up and kisses him. He sits up with her in his lap. Licks along her neck. She grabs the back of his.

“Liv,” he stops her, wanting to make sure things are quite clear. “I didn't need her to do anything. We would have figured it out eventually and saved some very real heartache.”

“I know,” she murmurs as he moves his hands up to settle along her rib cage, gently skimming the undersides of her breasts. “She helped expedite. You should forgive her.”

Before he knows it she's pushing him to his back and leaning into her drawer.

“I'm working on it,” he leans back.

He's mostly there. He's just a little annoyed she still can't butt out. He shouldn't get so worked up about it though. He has much better things to worry over right now.

Liv is ripping off the foil when she looks down and smiles.

“Ready for me already?” She licks her lips, then reaches down between her legs with her free hand, swirling against her clit.

“If you need help with that I am happy to offer assistance,” he smiles, grabbing for the condom in her other hand.

“No,” she stops. “I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

“I'm not complaining.”

She moves her hand, pushes him back down and takes him into her mouth. Licking and kissing all along his cock.

“As much as we both enjoy this I worry you're stretching out the rubber.”

She releases him with one last lick across his head, then brings the latex over him. He's expecting her to straddle, but she falls back to the bed next to him.

“You taking me up on the help?’

“Don't need it.” She grabs for his butt and pull him closer. “I figured it was time for you to be on top.”

“How deferential.”

He can't help himself and leans over her, reaching between them to finger her center. She makes a face as she moans, clutching at his chest. “I can't decide if I'm mad or thankful for that.”

He slips one finger inside, then rubs her clit with his other hand. She rolls against him, trying to find pressure. “I need more,” she gasps, “I need you.”

He gently pulls his finger out and sucks her juices from it. “I swear to God,” she whimpers.

He moves between her legs and thrusts into her.

“Fuck. Thank you.” She rotates her hips as he continues thrusting. “Why does this feel so damn amazing?”

“Biology I'm sure.”

“Don't sell yourself short. It's never been this good.” He imagines she's trying to placate his ego. However, she's also going down the road she does when she doesn't really control what comes out of her mouth. If she's doing this intentionally it's working.

He reaches between them, swirls her clit as he leans down and licks at her nipple. She's starting to spasm and screaming at him not to stop. It's the best he's ever had, too, but he always knew it would be.

If he ever allowed himself to have it. Her. This.

She grabs his head and pulls him closer to her nipple, he takes the opportunity to suck it between his lips.

She moans something unintelligible as she clamps around him and he tumbles shortly after.

The shower takes a lot longer than it should and they don't conserve much water. Maybe this time is a little tough on his knees, but he isn’t complaining about it. He's going to appreciate her for as long as she lets him.

* * *

Fiona doesn't waste any time when they get to the restaurant. They've barely sat down before she mutters something about small children in a nice restaurant. “Though I'm sure Noah is an angel,” she self-corrects.

Liv just laughs, “I wouldn't dream of taking him to a place like this. He'd throw a fit because he can't color the menu.”

Fiona smiles. “Now coloring the menu sounds fun.” She drops it down on the table, a surefire way of indicating she's about to begin an offensive. “I am sorry to interrupt what must be a very eventful weekend,”

She's not. She enjoys being manipulative and that things are going according to her maniacal plans. “But I wanted to invite you two to a fundraiser.”

“This wasn't something you could have done over the phone?”

He would have ignored it and pretended he was busy. She doesn't hesitate to call him out on it.

“And have you pretend not to get the message and then avoid everything?” She purses her lips. “No.”

Liv is trying and failing to suppress laughter beside him. “She's not wrong, Rafa.”

This must mean she wants to go. Lord help him.

“I'm not wrong Rafael.” Fiona adds.

He groans. “How much is this one setting me back?”

He learned his lesson with $10,000 for the Women's League.  

Fiona grins. “It's only $500 and it's for the Civil Servants Fund.”

Now he really can't get out of it. “I like your universe where it's **only** $500.”

She remains nonplussed. Olivia remains amused.

“I can cover you if that's a problem.”

He wants to ask where she gets all this money to throw around at things, what she's blackmailing people with. But he's not sure she actually has a criminal streak.

He's definitely not about to owe her money.

“No.” He states, ending the discussion.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs.

She and Olivia end up discussing the Horace Carson case in hushed tones and coded words. Sometimes he forgets that Fi actually does work for the NYPD. It's probably because it's quite appalling that she is an officer of the law. 

She winds up inviting Liv to Wednesday lunches. He'd protest, but he'll probably enjoy it a little if she's there. He likes the buffer. He likes Liv.

* * *

She picks up the paperwork and they go back to his place this time. They share his couch and read their respective documents. If he had a scotch and she had a glass of wine and they were sharing the details this would be just like old times.

He'd miss it, except old times didn't have her feet in his lap and never happened at his place.

He finally finishes the proposal. There aren't any flaws. It's brilliant.

He's annoyed.

She sighs. He looks over at her.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks.

“Yeah, Carisi is on duty, but -” she looks askance, fumbling with her paperwork. She's conditioned to fear the reaction, he realizes. A lifetime of failed relationships, disappointments, expectations. He's going to make sure he shows how much he supports her.

He shuts his laptop, and places it on the coffee table in front of him. “If you need to take care of something I'm not going to get mad about it.”

He manages an even tone. He's mad at the people who taught her to react this way. He'd never be mad at her for wanting, needing to help people.

Her breath catches. Apparently his line of thinking was wrong. “Oh I know that Rafa,” she smiles, shaking her head. “Carisi will probably be happy to follow up on it. I just don't need the inevitable twenty questions.”

Ah. Yes. The genuine caring bordering on vague nosiness that is as endearing as it is annoying. Good old Sonny Carisi. 

“Well that will be a problem,” he mutters, “but now you understand my feelings on Fiona.”

She chuckles, grabs her phone, and ducks into his study to call Carisi. He overhears her tell him a few of the details of the walk around Central Park. She leaves out the parts where he freaked out, the emotional bits.

She has to gather herself to ask him to follow up on something, says she'll email him.

He decides he’s eavesdropping and takes the opportunity to call his mother. He tells her that Friday is the best for everyone. She seems genuinely delighted. He's terrified.

* * *

They order Chinese food and watch a movie. He's not entirely paying attention. He finds he's worried about Noah calling.

“Liv,” he starts, caressing her arms. “Do you think he'll be okay tonight?”

“It's hard to tell,” she pushes off from his chest and looks into his eyes, “Why?”

He feels weird and vulnerable and attached, but it's Liv and he can tell her anything. As long as he lets himself.

“It's my turn for the Night Night Song and he's already mad at me for missing spaghetti.”

“Rafa,” she places her hand on his chest. “He isn't mad at you. I just think sometimes when you aren't here he misses you and gets afraid he's going to have to talk to you on Skype again.”

That lances at his heart a bit. A lot actually. Mostly because he thinks she isn't just talking about Noah.

“Is that him or you?” he asks, taking her hand, searching her eyes. She's edging toward an admission of sorts, he thinks.

“You didn't talk to me on Skype,” she winces. He feels terribly guilty. He had his reasons and they're still valid, he just didn't dream at the time he was hurting her like this.

He kisses the palm of her hand, “only because if I heard your voice I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from doing something stupid and showing up on your doorstep in the middle of the night.”

It probably wouldn't have been all that stupid, he thinks now. At least, if he had been able to tell her with the right words. If he hadn't convinced himself she wasn't interested or understood she didn't follow his meaning.

“I wish you would have,” she smiles, tears in her eyes. “I wish you had said you loved me back then. I wish I understood that you thought you had.”

He does too, but then he wouldn't have been in the right place. He wouldn't have anything lined up. He wouldn't have been able to be a good boyfriend or person, really. It was best that he learned how to forgive himself instead of wishing he hadn't done it.

Wishing you hadn't done something isn't any kind of solution. It doesn't do anything but make you sad you can't fix it. No use crying over spilled milk when you can mop it up.

He still understands her impulse think about the way things might have been. His wishes go back a little further.

He runs his fingers through her hair, “I know. Me too,” he admits, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes, “I wish a lot of things.”

She settles her head into the crook of his neck.

* * *

 After the movie is over she pads to the kitchen to pour some wine and scotch. She remarks that he has her favorite brand. Like he didn't always. Like she isn't over here all the time. Like he's the only one who ever dared to notice.

Like she doesn't have his favorite brand of scotch in her apartment, even though it's stupidly expensive. Maybe, well, maybe they don't have to have separate bottles and glasses and beds. Maybe Noah doesn't have to sleep on an air mattress. Maybe he's getting ahead of himself.

He'll wait. At least until they deal with Mamí. If it goes well it can be a culmination. If it doesn't, then at least he didn't make assumptions.

Liv makes several comments about his expensive sheets and jokingly suggests another go at the table. She makes the same general comments every time she's over. This time he takes the hints she's dropped. They make very good use of the sheets and the bed they cover.

She pulls on his shirt when they’re done. He grabs some boxers. He knows it's a bit possessive to like that she's wearing his shirt, especially once he realizes she doesn't have much else to wear here. But he'd really rather nothing and that seems worse.

Her back is to him and he wraps his arms around her, leaning forward to smell her hair. It still somehow smells like her shampoo. It still somehow smells like her.

He can tell she feels like they were supposed to be going at it like bunnies all weekend. He likes how it turned out - he likes this - better. He's not 19 and it's quite different when you're in love.

* * *

He tries not to feel disappointed to wake up in the morning and find that Noah had been fine without the Night Night Song. At least, they hadn't been called about it. He tries to feel happy Noah isn't mad at him. Instead he feels unnecessary, even if that has nothing to do with it.

When they pick him up from Javi and Keith's Noah’s whole face lights up at the sight of him. He runs at him and insists on being picked up, telling him all about his adventures.

Javier makes a veiled comment about being a papí. If only, he thinks. Maybe someday he will call him that. For now he's okay with being wanted.

They both try to leverage pancakes for dinner but Liv will hear none of it. They have to settle for some sort of green bean frozen meal Noah definitely thinks is disgusting but is too polite to criticize. He sneaks him a cookie for his efforts. Liv pretends not to notice.

He puts him to bed, makes up some story about knights and owls and wizards. Maybe it's actually The Sword and the Stone.

Noah listens, enraptured, as he clutches Eddie. He asks if it's true owls come from dinosaurs. Sort of, he thinks, but he's not ready to explain the ins and outs of evolution to a six year old.

He settles for telling him they are very, very distant relatives.

He's about to lean over and turn off his light when he's stopped.

“Rafa, I tried to teach Mr. Javier the Night Night Song because Momma said I needed to be a big boy.” He says as if he's dropping a big secret, “Don't tell him, but it wasn't very good.”

He manages to tame the laughter. He really is a sweet boy.

“I like it when you sing it the best.”

He ruffles his hair, launches into the song. He tries to think about how ridiculous Javier must've sounded. Otherwise he's going to cry and he doesn't know how to explain it isn't because he's sad. Not at all.

He turns off the light, kisses him on the forehead, closes the door, and tries not to think about how much the kid would enjoy a dinosaur bed. Maybe Liv would be okay with a dinosaur pillow.

She smiles when he enters her bedroom and doesn't waste time settling into him before she falls asleep. Her arms are strewn about his body and her legs are effectively caging him. He’s going to have a fun time extricating himself when he needs to go to the bathroom later. He can’t begin to care right now.

He likes having her arms and legs all entwined with his. Even if she's still wearing too many clothes. Even if he hates not knowing where all of his stuff is, exactly.

Maybe he can buy her some expensive sheets so she'll stop whining about his.

Maybe she isn't whining about them at all.

* * *

He's happy yet disappointed to see Chet sitting in his desk Monday morning. He's glad the numbskull is okay but he's still a numbskull. He spends the week researching the feasibility of the Safe Schools Initiative as well as it's author.  Her strategist pops by his office several times to insist that he is being unnecessarily stubborn. He’s probably right. He’s definitely right.

He relents and agrees to support it on Wednesday morning. He thinks that should tamper the visits for awhile.

During spaghetti night they tell Noah that his mom is going to visit. He says he is fine with this as long as the food isn't yucky. He can’t promise that. He just promises that if he’s nice he’ll get a cookie.

Noah likes this answer. Liv does not.

After dinner Noah asks what his momma’s favorite dinosaur is. He admits he doesn’t know. ( _Then I’ll draw her all of MY favorites)_. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him he doesn’t think his mother cares about dinosaurs or pictures, but maybe she’ll be nice. At least to the Noah's face she’ll be nice.

He’s sorely disappointed to find his capitulation with regard to the proposal did not help one bit. The man is back in his office Thursday afternoon with a statement of support to sign. He tells him he will get back to him next week. He doesn’t intend to.

He knows he will be back in his office Monday morning. He knows once you allow a demon into your life there’s not much you can do to get them to leave.

* * *

He thinks he manages to do a decent job with the food, and it’s almost ready by the time Liv and Noah arrive. Noah insists on helping with the silverware, making sure each item is perfectly in line. 

His mother knocks when he is about to set the food on plates. He hears Liv and Noah talking with her. She’s probably displeased he doesn’t introduce them. He finds he doesn't care that much.

Noah calls her Mrs. Rafa’s Mom and offers her a very colorful drawing of stegosauruses and triceratops. She takes it and tells her to call him Señora Lucía. If he’s not mistaken she also calls him a very smart, very nice boy. He can’t imagine how she knows from one interaction, but he agrees. He’s proud. He’s … relieved.

They have dinner. Liv seems surprised that it tastes like food. Noah asks for more please. He suspects he's just trying to impress his new friend Señora Lucía but he'll take it.

His mother asks a series of questions about work and what subjects Noah is learning in school. Numbers apparently. ( _I’m six,_ he says while only holding up one hand. They'll work on it.)

He's waiting for Mamí to do something inappropriate or mean but she's perfectly agreeable the entire meal. She even watches cartoons with Noah while he and Olivia clean up.

It's unsettling. Deeply disconcerting.

Liv gives him a hard time about the food, accuses him of having his mother help pre-roast the chicken. He’s a bit offended but he guesses her only previous evidence of his cooking skills have been pancakes and spaghetti.

He sighs, argues that while the spaghetti was a disastrous occurrence it is not indicative of a pattern of behavior. He was making the pasta in a diminished mental state and he would never lie to her. He’s terrible at it and she’d know if he was.

After she pushes further and tells him he needs to pick a defense and stick to it he admits that he probably got distracted making the pasta because it was too easy. He was more focused on her. This is a meal he’s helped make for almost 40 years. If he messed it up he really was a mess.

She smiles and tells him he’s an idiot. He knows.

* * *

Liv helps Noah to get to sleep in his "room." (Air mattress in the study. It isn't ideal.)  It's as she's walking back to join them that his mother is back to her old ways.

“So you read the policy,” she states, standing in the middle of his living room and refusing to sit down.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It’s okay.”

It’s more than okay. It’s masterful. It’s brilliant. It takes pieces of existing legislation to cobble together funding in a way that is somehow fiscally conservative but also gains $10 million for the Department of Education. He’s pissed about it honestly.

Not because he didn’t think of it, but because now he’s actually going to have to listen to the proposal’s author and sign the paper her serpentine political strategist gave him. He’s mostly pissed because his mother was right.

“So you will support it,” she leads. It isn’t a question. It’s almost an admonishment. He catches Liv’s eye over his mother’s shoulder. He’s glad to know she finds this all so amusing.

“Yes mamá,” he mutters.

“Bueno.”

She pats his shoulder, then turns around suddenly, squaring Liv’s gaze. “So Olivia, when did you finally give my Rafí the time of day?”

Forty-seven years old and he's still _her_ Rafí. Here is everything he was afraid of. She’s going to push her away. Somehow, someway. She’s going to do what Fiona couldn’t and ruin his life. “Mamí. Stop it.”

Olivia takes it in stride. He can’t believe he forgot that she isn’t intimidated by much of anything. “When he finally told me.”

His mother does not like this answer.

“And this wasn't obvious to you before?”

Liv meets his eyes and he sends her an apologetic expression because there's no way out.

She smiles. “No, but then I wasn't obvious either.”

He thinks they both were a little obvious, quite obvious. He’s been told as much by multiple people, but it’s as good an answer as any because it’s the truth.

“You still driving him a bit crazy?” his mother asks his… girlfriend.

“Mamí -” if she doesn't stop this he's going to end up yelling. He's edging toward what he was afraid of - blowing everything up. If anyone drives him crazy it's his mother.

Olivia just takes it in stride yet again, “Yeah, I think, but in a different way.”

“Good,” she responds, surprising the Hell out of him. “You keep pushing him the right direction, Lieutenant.”

“Call me Olivia.”

He doesn’t know why he’s shocked it went well. Thinking on it now of course the only complaint his mother would have about Liv would be her imagined previous slights against him. Olivia is perfect and even his discerning, critical, honestly lovely mother knows it.

She confirms these suspicions as she’s walking out the door, telling him he must hang onto “that girl.” She’s not a girl. She’s … everything - to him at least. Besides, she doesn’t need to know his intentions. He’s certainly not planning to let her go, and maybe he’s leaping forward a bit, but since this went so well, he’s going to push it.

Use your words, he hears Fiona admonish in his head. All the women in his head might just drive him over a fence. Or maybe they will force him in the right direction eventually.

* * *

Liv does not react well later when he misspeaks and tells her that the current arrangement isn’t working for him. She thinks he means he wants to break up, or take a break. He’s only a little encouraged to know he isn’t the only one who gets worked up over nothing.

He apologizes for the poor word choice and informs her his problem is that everyone’s stuff is everywhere and he would like to move in together.

After a brief discussion, they admit neither of their places meet everyone’s needs and that’s largely why they’ve been utilizing both. He’s glad she’s amenable.

They slip into bed. He has a worry, a pause, a doubt. He tells her about it, because he is supposed to, because he needs to use his words.

“If I'm moving too fast it's okay. You can say no and it won't hurt my feelings.”

It absolutely would hurt his feelings and she knows it. He doesn't know who he's trying to kid. He just wants to be sure she isn’t agreeing only to placate him. He can wait for her to be ready. He has lots of practice.

“You're not. I just have to think about how Noah would react to moving,” she sighs, running her hand up and down the arm he has wrapped around her, “But I think if we found somewhere close enough it could work. We could be a two espresso maker family”

He chuckles into her shoulder. “I would miss Angelo though.”

“You've never missed anyone in your entire life.”

“You'd be surprised. I missed you every day. Every minute of every day it felt like.”

She turns in his arms, runs a hand through his hair and looks at him intently.

“I missed you every day too.” He knows. They know. It's good to say sometimes. She runs her hand along his chest. “Turn around. Let me be the big spoon.

He rolls his eyes, but promptly turns around and grabs her hands as she wraps around him. Then she nuzzles into his neck.

He knows she can feel his smile, so he makes a joke. “I think if we work in enough cookies Noah will be okay.”

“Stop bribing him,” she laughs, “I’m sure you’ll need to save your money for all of the ridiculous dealbreakers on your list.”

“You’d be surprised,” he answers, “I just need three bedrooms and a nice tub.”

“But you’d also like a garden and a solarium and a library and multiple walk in closets.”

She isn’t incorrect, but he’s willing to compromise if need be. He’s nothing if not accommodating.

“We'll work on it,” he says by way of agreeing with her, feeling her breath even out.

He realizes he just asked her to move in after only three months. It probably seems ludicrous to those who don’t know them. Really it's been six, almost seven years and he's learning to enjoy being spontaneous. He's not looking forward to real estate shopping though.

It won’t be all that bad if he gets to come home to her and Noah every night. If he gets to really, actually be a family. Pushing his luck never felt so great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted a lot of the details from Wiki/the Central Park Conservancy so apologies for touristy/incorrect info. I also took some liberties with timing and locations so forgive me for the sake of plot maybe? :)


	4. They meet at parties through the friends-of-friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafa and Liv attend a gala, hoping it goes better than the first time, and meet a few new faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive for any Spanish mistakes and for my incessant need to add original characters.  
> The first part of this is a bit of an overlap with the end of last chapter, so don't freak out. :)

When he tells her that things aren’t working for him anymore her soul nearly leaves her body. She had plenty of fears. Him leaving again was one of them, but she’d never expected it to happen so soon. She honestly never thought he’d actually do it.

She understood his habit to self-destruct, but she’d been doing her utmost to show him how much he meant to her. They’d been using their words, to borrow a phrase. As far as she was concerned they were utterly, blissfully happy. The kind of happy she never actually dared to dream she’d be.

She’d planned to reward him for a lovely dinner with his mother. Maybe reward herself a little bit. The trouble with being in love is sometimes the pleasure isn’t mutually exclusive. Sometimes the trouble with being in love is that it blinds you to reality. Like the fact that he’d been ambling about and nervous.

But the real trouble with being in love with your best friend - or at least someone who knows her so thoroughly - is that he knows where her brain is immediately. He doesn’t understand what the problem is. So she tells him everything. How she thought they were happy, how she thought they were finally communicating, and that she isn’t going to let him ruin this.

He sighs, smiling. Now she doesn’t understand. She has tears in her eyes and he’s smiling?

His problem isn’t the relationship, he says. It’s the arrangement.

Then he doubles back, realizing that he’d misspoken.

He leans forward, pulls her into his arms. He strokes her hair and tells her that he needs her. He needs her every day. But all of their things in different places doesn’t make that feasible. He doesn’t know to cram all of their stuff together.

He wants them to move in together.

If she hadn’t been head over heels in love with him already she would be falling now.

She loves him a little more every day. She didn’t think it was possible. She’s never been more happy to be wrong.

Of course there are reassurances, doubts, squabbling. Of course there are jokes about cookies tinged with real feelings of inadequacy - an admission of guilt and loneliness.

She doesn’t know why she insists on forgetting this part - that before he was her boyfriend, before she lost her mind a little bit with attraction and feelings, he was her partner. Her better half, her teammate.

He has a million things he calls her. He compares her to heavenly bodies and literary characters, Spanish endearments that aren’t really for people. _Mi vida_ always seems ridiculous but her heart expands to impossible sizes every time he says it and looks at her like he means it. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly.

She could find something to fit him - some knight to equate with him calling her Galahad (she’s sure it’s compliment of the highest order.) Some moon to her sun, some king to her  _reina._

None seem to fit. Because he isn’t a king or a knight or a moon. He isn’t a fairy tale. He’s real. He’s here and she’s keeping him with her as long as she can. It’s simple.

_Her Rafa_ is the only thing that fits.

She’s so stupidly happy she’d even listen to a long winded argument about how lawyers are modern day knights or something. She’s so over the moon she’s not even afraid of New York real estate prices. She knows he’ll want something that will inevitably cost $25 million and be highly inappropriate for Noah.

For now she’ll go on websites and try to be practical, while fiercely avoiding telling anyone until she talks him down to something reasonable. If she’s really being honest - she loves the game.

She loves him. He loves her. It’s all that really matters right now.

* * *

She’s almost forgotten about the gala they agreed to attend ( _Your fault_ , she hears Rafa correct in her head.  _I didn’t want to leave bed, remember?_ ) when Fiona appears in her office. She apologizes profusely but she cannot make the gala on Friday.

She doesn't know why these things always happen on Friday, nor ever being told a date. She's not mad at Fiona in the slightest. In fact, she's a bit happy the woman won't be there to orchestrate some sort of misunderstanding. Even if she really does like her, she's a bit much at times.

Regardless, Fiona feels terrible. She informs her that she just broke up with her boyfriend over a large argument that started with, of all things, the Mets. Now she's just too embarrassed to show her face alone. Fiona would rather eat a whole tub of ice cream than show her face in public.

She’s not sure that a person this tiny could eat two licks of ice cream, but she’s not here to judge. She's also not sure what the Mets have to do with a breakup. She doesn’t really even buy most of this story, but she feels like the breakup is real.

To make up for this travesty, Fiona insists they go pick out a dress. After work, she says, as if they both work in an office and always leave exactly at 5 pm. She'll text her the place.

There's no arguing with her. Even if she wanted to.

She texts Rafa to ask if he can meet Lucy tonight, because she's been pulled into something with Fiona.

[ _Somehow I think that's harder to get out of than actual police business. Good luck.]_

Of course he knows it isn’t actually police business. If she didn’t know better. If she hadn’t looked Fiona's closure rate, she’d think she was bribing someone to keep her job.

_[Yes, but you're good with Noah? I can ask Lucy to hang around if you need to stay at work.]_

_[And wait for Chet’s return? Godot is more likely to make an appearance.]_

Another literary reference that's as endearing as it is pretentious. That's her Rafa.

He quickly adds another response _._

_[Text me if you need me to create a diversion.]_

She smiles, charmed in spite of herself. This isn't really all that different than it always was. Except now she's allowing herself to accept the help.

She answers with a winking emoji. _[Noted.]_

She doesn't read his response until lunch. He asks her when Carisi made her start using those. She just sends back another wink emoji. She can practically hear his groan from the other end of Manhattan.

* * *

The problem with the gala is that she needs someone to watch Noah. She texts Javier to see if they’d be up for watching him again this Friday. He seems to have had a good time last week and he even knows the Night Night Song now.

Javier apologizes, assuring her Noah is a perfect angel baby. However, they are jotting over to the Hamptons this weekend. She thanks him, says she's glad they're having a good time.  She'll find someone to watch him while she goes to this fancy fundraiser.

_[A ball!]_ He responds immediately. Flamenco dancers come right after in a separate text. _[Lord, honey if you need help being Cinderella I have the hookup]_

She’d rather not be Cinderella. She doesn't want her carriage turning into a pumpkin at midnight. Especially when it reminds her of how close she came to losing everything. Losing her best friend and, well, the love of her life really. ( _Gus Gus and Jaq would not allow that.)_

[ _How about I get your okay on the dress before I buy it?]_

_[Oooh okay. Nothing else? I feel bad.]_

She's going to regret asking him this, but she definitely doesn’t want to be asking any of her detectives or any of Rafa's friends.

_[You don't know a real estate agent do you?]_

Javi will definitely talk to Rafa about it the minute he sees him. But he’s just discerning enough that she trusts their tastes would align.

She sees the dots to indicate he’s typing. She expects a name and number. Or a picture of a business card. What she gets is a text wall of exclamation points that almost takes up her entire phone screen.

She already regrets asking him and they haven’t even gotten anywhere.

[ _Are you moving in with Señor Suave???????_ ]

Another text with a bunch of kiss emojis follows.

[ _Talking about it. Early stages_.]

[ _Honestly, I can't believe you haven't locked that down good and tight already but I'll ask around._ ]

She laughs, thanks him. She’ll let him know about the dress. She's disappointed Noah won't get to hang out with Victoria, but she’s glad they're going to have a good time.

She thinks about things the three of them could do together. The Hamptons is definitely more up Rafa's alley than hers. She considers taking him up on the picnic idea he’d mentioned last weekend, somewhere between case files and orgasms. Unfortunately it’s too cold for that.

A night in sounds lovely. Noah can sit between them and watch Frozen or Wall-E or something. It's perfect. But she had to agree to go to another gala.

Because the first time she went to a gala with Rafa went so well, especially with Fiona involved.

She snaps herself out of this negativity. She's doing this for him, because he secretly loves it. Because she's been trying to show him how much he means to her and this is the kind of gesture she needs to make.

Maybe she likes seeing him all dressed up, too. She’d never admit that to him.

* * *

She asks Amanda if she can watch Noah after lunch.

She can't. She has a night in with the cardiologist she's been dating. She wants to ask if it's the same cardiologist she broke up with a few months ago, but she doesn't. It isn't entirely her business.

Instead, she smiles at her and tells her to have a good time. Before Rollins can balk and try to rearrange her schedule she holds a hand out to her in understanding. “Don't worry about Noah. I'll figure something out.”

Amanda smirks, “You and Barba look good on each other,” then corrects herself. “If you don't mind my saying.”

Olivia shakes her head, about to tell her to get back to work and stop exaggerating, but she keeps going. “No, really. On any other people I'd tell you to stop being so gross but you're like,” she stops, searching for the words, “glowing.”

She looks down, trying to settle her fingers. “Thank you for the hyperbole.”

“Oh I'm not pulling your leg, Liv. Carisi and I were talking about it earlier. He wanted to ask what bronzer you were using so he could recommend it to Bella, but he decided it would be inappropriate.”

She finds Carisi has been a lot more concerned about appropriateness since Barba's returned. She's not sure what he's up to but he's always been a good influence on him.

A good influence on everyone really.

“Well,” she smiles, deciding to take it as a compliment. “No bronzer here unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Maybe it's Maybelline. Maybe it's orgasms.”

“Okay that is inappropriate,” she scolds.

Rollins isn't wrong, but she doesn't need to know it.

She shrugs, clearly getting the reaction she was hoping for. “I don't know what to tell you though. Carisi’s got a date that night and Fin’s working through that Carson depo. Maybe Barba has friends?”

“I'll see if Lucy can stay.”

Lucy cannot stay. She has a big test and she's got a study group meeting Friday night. She's not sure what kind of study group meets Friday nights but she hopes she's making friends.

_Maybe Barba has friends._ She hears Amanda’s voice suggesting. So she texts him that she's not sure she can go now. No one is free to watch Noah.

He writes back immediately.

_[Mamí can. If you still want to go and don't mind the 400 questions she'll ask.]_

_[Well we wouldn't want you to have to return your tuxedo. You don't think she'll mind?]_

She can practically hear the scoff from his end

_[You think I would *rent* a tuxedo? I think I'm offended.]_

Of course he has one. She's beginning to think they'll need an entire separate bedroom for his clothes. It might even be ideal, given that he's more than once been peeved she put things in the wrong place. _(Paisley doesn't go next to stripes. I don't know how you expect me to function like this.)_

_[I do apologize your majesty. How ignoble of me for thinking you were a regular human. And yes I still want to go]_

Want is a strong word. She'd really rather not be spending money that should go toward a new apartment on a dress, but she's too far in it to quit now.

_[I'll call her at lunch.]_

She keeps forgetting that he doesn't mind helping with Noah. He continues flooring her with how easily he's taken to folding them into his life. As if, even though he’d never indicated he wanted it before, his secret wish had always been a family. Even if he doesn't think he's prepared for it. No one's prepared for it.

He texts her back as promised. Lucía will be happy to watch Noah.

* * *

Fiona takes her to some Madison Avenue boutique after work. The sales assistant immediately goes bug-eyed when Fiona walks in. It's only then she notices the designer label handbag she’s carrying and the pink, flowery trench coat she has on.

Fiona certainly doesn't dress like a police officer and maybe she's been pulled into something she doesn't like.

She's about to protest she's too curvy, too busty for a place like this. But she’s ushered to some showroom and handed a glass of champagne.

She isn't trying on a wedding gown, she muses. Then she realizes that's probably about how much these gowns cost. She feels like she's in some sort of bad montage.

She'll indulge this, for Fiona, but she has no intention of buying anything.

The shop assistant - _Maggie,_ as she insists on being called even though Fiona refers to her repeatedly as Margaret, keeps coming out with more and more dresses. Olivia thinks they're all fine but either Maggie or Fiona pooh-pooh each one.

She's about to set the brakes to the whole thing when her phone goes off. Fiona picks it up at looks at her phone. Her face goes cold.

“Who is this Sonny texting you?” she asks, tone accusatory, like she's caught her in a bad deed, “and what does he want?”

“Carisi?” She laughs, “I don't know. Probably something with a case.”

“Oh!” Her mood immediately shifts back to normal, smiling as she hands her the phone. She's certainly something. “I've been meaning to meet him. Tell him he can drop by.”

Carisi needs her signature on something from the Crime Lab, so she might as well invite him here. It seems weird, but this whole situation is strange.

She tries on a few more dresses. None are acceptable. There's even a green one she likes, but Fiona says it isn't fancy enough. She honestly didn't realize it would be this big of a production.

Carisi arrives as Margaret is in the back coming up with more things. She's glad she’s never been rich enough to do things like this. It's exhausting.

She signs the document and introduces him to Fiona. It only takes minutes before they're acting like they've been friends for life. Might as well be.

He takes a picture of the paper and emails it to the Crime Lab. She's pretty sure he'll need to at least scan the document - but maybe they'll accept it.

He sits with Fiona and offers a “male perspective.” Great.

Maggie comes back with a few more gowns, seemingly nonplussed at Carisi’s presence. She supposes this is the price of doing business with Sergeant Masters.

“I think the purple one might be the ticket,” the young woman adds hopefully.

She tries it on. She likes it but she's sure Fiona won't. Nothing is good enough. Carisi likes everything.

She doesn't care. Rafa doesn't care. This doesn't matter.

She exits the dressing area and walks to the mirror. It's certainly very sparkly, she notes, looking at the beads.

“This dress is ridiculous,” she gulps as she smooths the fabric over her stomach.

She sees Carisi perk up from his phone. She turns around. He lets out a low sound, shaking his head. “Lieu, that's the one.”

She really does like it. It’s nice. It fits in all the right places. It's a little fancy though.

Fiona looks up from her phone and smiles. “It’s perfect. He'll love it.”

It isn't about him.

It's all about him really.

She sighs. She's afraid to look at the price tag for this thing. She doesn't want to fall in love with it and find out she can't afford it. Besides, if it's really about him she knows he liked the last outfit.

“Can't I wear the same one I wore last time?”

“No,” Fiona states simply, glaring at her phone because it’s gone off again. “People will talk.”

She snorts, scoffs. “I don't care about people.”

Masters sets the phone down and looks her over.

“It's about how people will talk about him. I'm not saying it's right,” she shrugs. “It's just the way things are.”

She sighs, annoyed that Fiona is right. A common theme in her new reality, she guesses. She finally allows herself to check the handwritten price tag. It has entirely too many digits to even consider buying. She kind of wants to vomit just thinking about spilling the champagne all over it.

She claws for the back zipper, trying to tug it down, but she can't get to it while she's borderline hyperventilating.

This is stupid. She's a strong person. This doesn't even matter. It's just money.

(And evermore proof that his is a world she doesn't quite fit into.)

Suddenly Carisi is up from his chair. He grabs her hand and squeezes it between both of his. He meets her eyes in the mirror.

“Lieu,” he starts, adopting a serene tone. She's given this talk before. Many, many times before. She trained him on this talk. “This is perfect. It fits you like it was made for you. You look great and you can absolutely do it.”

His may be more related to calming down his sisters than the actual victim talk, but nonetheless.

Fiona's approach is much less nuanced.

“If you don't get this I'm suing you for emotional distress.”

She bursts out laughing. She wants it, but there's no way she can justify moving money around to pay for it.

“This,” she motions across her body, “costs more than I make in a month.”

“No it doesn't,” she answers as if she has everyone's salary memorized. It's possible she does. “And don't worry about that part. I have it covered.”

She’s not about to be implicated in some sort of illegal activity. Ignorance doesn't mean innocence. Especially when you're suspicious anyway.

She has to ask.

“Do you have a second job as a model or something?”

Carisi raises both eyebrows. He seems surprised she would come right out and say it.

Fiona just laughs.

“I'm not tall enough to model,” she supplies like it's the only thing stopping her from doing so. “This is coming out of my trust fund.”

Well that does make a perverse sort of sense. Why she can casually offer to pay for $500 dinners and designer dresses. Why she never seems worried about not being at her job. Why Maggie recognized her. She’s rich.

Carisi beats her to what she's about to ask.  “You have a trust fund and you're a homicide detective?”

“Sergeant,” she corrects, “we all have our callings.”

This seems to be an acceptable answer for Sonny but to Olivia it doesn't cover it. Maybe one day she'll get the urge to dig. For now she's mostly convincing herself to buy the dress.

“Oh,” she remembers. “Can one of you take a picture of this? I have to get approval from Javier.”

“Javier?” Carisi raises an eyebrow like he's not the one watching her try on dresses.

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes. “His husband has more to worry about from Rafa.”

Carisi then happily takes a picture. She sends it off. She's getting back into her pants when he responds.

She hopes it's just a formality at this point. She isn’t disappointed.

[ _Yowza. Buy it. Now. Get stock in the designer and tip whoever found that. I'm jealous.]_

She laughs at the series of emojis he adds. [ _Glad you approve_.]

She thanks Margaret as she rings it up. She tries to offer to split some of the cost or to buy Fiona something in exchange. but she will hear none of it. This is her fault for pulling them into this and then backing out. And, after the mess she caused, it's the least she can do.

She accepts the dress, because she wants it, but she's not sure Fiona doesn't have something up her sleeve. She’s almost sure of it.

* * *

When she arrives home Rafa is lying on the floor with a bunch of dinosaurs sprawled across him.

He makes eye contact. “Do I want to know?”

“Shh Momma,” Noah answers from behind the table. “I'm making a potion to save the earth. I have to concentrate.”

“Okay,” she tries not to laugh, setting the box down on the counter. “And Rafa is on the floor because?”

“He's the earth. He got hit by a astervoid.”

Rafa is really committed to this role because he doesn't gently correct the mispronunciation. She offers to help finish the potion because they need to get finished before bed time. He begrudging accepts her assistance.

They finish the potion. Rafa is only allowed to come back to life after carefully moving the dinosaurs back to their homes in the toy chest.

They talk Noah into going to bed. It only takes two stories and one Night Night Song. He’s already getting much better at negotiation and she’s glad to have a co-counsel to deal with him now. She supposes the co-counsel is half the problem with her son's increased negotiation skills though.

She sits on the couch and tries to put up her feet. He walks down the hall, closing Noah's bedroom door behind him..

He joins her.  

“So what did Fiona want?” he asks, pulling her into his chest as he kisses her head.

“Long story short - she broke up with Eric. So now she doesn't want to go to the gala,” she murmurs, fiddling with his shirt sleeve and pulling her feet under her lap.

“I still don't think that guy was even real,” he laughs, “but this means we don't have to go, right?”

He wants to go. She knows it. He also doesn't want Fiona to have one over on him.

“She claims they had a fight about the Mets’ chances to win the pennant,” she answers. His hand is playing with the hem of her shirt. She thinks he's about to slip under the fabric, but she's going to have to disappoint him. “Yes we still have to go.”

She feels his lungs deflate as he sighs audibly. “I don’t pretend to care or know anything about baseball, but this all seems spurious.”

She giggles, shaking her head. It's the Rafael Barba version of _that seems fake but okay._ Sometimes it's hard to imagine how she fell in love with someone so pretentious.

Because he isn't pretentious at all. Not in the end. She loves him so goddamned much.

“You still haven't answered my question,” he corners her. Of course the best lawyer in New York City - best former lawyer in NYC, she corrects - would know she was hedging.

“She insisted we go shopping and bought me a fancy dress as an apology for not going.”

It's his turn to laugh, leaning back against the couch. “So that's what’s in the box?”

He gestures to the counter, and makes to get up to check it out.

She moves a leg across his lap to keep him in place. “No peeking. It's supposed to be a surprise.”

His hands grip her waist. He smiles knowingly as he looks between them, noticing that she's straddling him now. “Don't I get a hint? I’ve just been resurrected. Have some compassion.”

“Fiona says you'll love it,” she strokes his chest, sliding her nails up and down.

“Not good enough,” he pulls her forward and buries his face in her neck, licking at her pulse point.

“Not fair,” she whimpers, “it's purple.”

He stops, adjusts their positions so his growing erection is just at her mound. Dry humping sounds immature but it feels wonderful right now. Everything feels wonderful with him - even him trying to get frivolous information out of her through nefarious means.

“Too bad,” he moves to unbutton her pants. “I was hoping for green.”

He unzips them as she writhes against him, but he doesn’t continue where she thinks he’s going. This is a little bit risky, but she doesn’t actually care right now.

She meets his eyes.

“Is this okay?” He asks, gesturing toward the hand about to delve into her panties. She wants to cry. Because he asked or because she needs it she's not sure.

“Yes,” she manages, shaking her head for emphasis. “Please.”

He smirks and slides his fingers between her thighs. She keens when the pads of his fingers hit her clit. The combination of the fabric rubbing between them and the smell of him mingling with their sweat? It never takes too long, but she’s almost there already.

He can sense it. He pulls her head down with his free hand and she meets his mouth, running her tongue along the seam of his lips as he continues strumming against her.

He opens his mouth and duels with her tongue. She briefly thinks this is crazy to be doing in the middle of the living room. But God he's so fucking good at this. She can't even attempt resist him. Not that she’d ever want to. Not that she really needs to.

She feels it building as he continues plowing along. Shortly thereafter all she can feel as bliss as he swallows her climax.

They rush to bed and she has to pull the pillow over her head when he's otherwise occupied between her legs. She has a serious problem, but she can’t bring herself to care.

He murmurs endearments as he thrusts inside. English, Spanish, she’s too far gone to tell the difference anymore, to translate in her head anymore. She does make out _te amo_ before he reaches between them, before she grabs his head and pulls him down for a kiss.

She doesn’t think much of anything after that.

She crawls out of bed sometime after, thankful they managed to grab their phones before they started acting irresponsible. It’s not her fault he’s hot and he’s just as into her as she is into him, she defends to herself.

“What kind of purple?” He asks, staring at her as she goes to pull on a shirt. She’d say something but she kind of likes it. She likes it way more than she really should.

She shrugs, “What do you mean? It's purple.”

He rolls his eyes, “this is the paisley thing all over again, Liv. There are like eighty different shades of purple. Lavender is completely different from burgundy. Not that burgundy is really even purple.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes as she throws his boxers at him. “Are you trying to match the tie to it or something?”

He pulls them on before responding.

“It's black tie, so no. I'm just curious.”

“You can't stand not knowing, can you?’ she smirks, slipping back into bed next to him.

“I don't like having secrets from you,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“Well that's almost sweet,” she sighs, snuggling against his bare chest as he cocoons around her.

It's actually very sweet just - high handed.

“Love you,” he mutters as he closes his eyes.

She manages to say “Love you too” before drifting to sleep. She thinks about how happy she is, and hopes Fiona is right and he'll like the dress in spite of it non being green.

She usually is correct though.

* * *

The next day a courier arrives to her office. He has a package she has to sign several forms to receive. When she takes it, there's a note on top of the invoice.

_Olivia,_

_I had these lying around. You can keep them as long as you get me pictures of you two on Friday._

_-Fi_

As catches go it isn't a terrible one, really.

She opens the box. It's a necklace with a pair of matching earrings and a bracelet. They're beautiful.

She very much doubts Fiona had this kind of thing just _lying around_ , but she likes these just enough to keep them. She'll work on the pictures.

* * *

When Friday rolls around they agree the best thing to do is meet where the event is taking place - the Natural History Museum. There’s no telling when she’ll get away from work or what thing he’ll be pulled into.

Really, she needs the time to get ready and he has a habit of getting distracted - getting her distracted.

Maybe she likes the distraction.

She’s able to get away from work fairly early and get ready fairly quickly. She even manages to keep Noah occupied with a new coloring book while she does her hair.

She’s almost done putting in the earrings when she hears a knock at the door.

It's Lucía. She had insisted on picking up Noah and then taking him to her house because this would allow her time to get ready. As well as much needed alone time after the event. She’d tried to protest and offer any other combination, but the woman would not hear of it, insistent this was the only logical plan.

She's beginning to understand why Rafa is so headstrong. Though it takes one to know one.

Noah will be unbearable as a teenager.

Wow. No. Too far. He'd said he wanted to be a family and to have 35 years together, but they aren't quite ready for that yet. Not crazy plans like that. At least not until after they figure out where to move in together.

Olivia lets her in.

“Señora Lucía!” Noah yells, sprinting towards her. Then doubles back as soon as he sees her finger in the air. “Sorry. I'll be quiet.”

“It's okay to be boisterous mi niño, but my ears are old.”

He giggles. “That's silly.”

She smiles and Lucía turns on her.

“I got here early to help you get ready, but I see those efforts are fruitless.”

“I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment, Mrs. Barba.”

“Lucía. And you do not need any help. Though beautiful women who deign to speak to him have always been my son's downfall.”

Oh. She thought they were becoming friendly, that she’d have another person in her corner. She thought the dinner had gone well, but apparently she doesn’t actually approve of the relationship. Or her, really.

She’s too old for this. They’ve wasted too much time for this. She’s not going to be driven away by his mother, not now. Not ever. Not when she's finally getting to show him how much he means to her.

“Lucía. If you don't like me that's fine,” she whispers, gesturing to the little boy now calmly coloring a picture at the kitchen table, “but I hope you won't bad mouth me to my son. Or yours.”

“Oh Lieutenant,” her face softens as she clasps her hands. “It isn't that I don't like you. Far from it. I just think my Rafí is in for it when he sees that dress. That isn't a bad thing.”

Approval from four different people should be enough for her, and Lucía’s may mean the most of all, but there’s only one person’s she cares about.

She doesn’t know why any of this matters to her, because he didn’t even want to go in the first place.

“Thank you,” she responds, genuinely touched. She can’t think of another appropriate response. Her brain is supplying lots of images of him peeling it off or hiking the skirt, but that’s not exactly what this is for and it’s not something she wants to share with Lucía of all people.

“Momma looks like a princess Señora.” Noah pipes up from the corner, snapping her back to reality. She’s not sure how she feels about being compared to a princess. “It has pretty sparkles like Elsa.”

Of course he has to compare it to Frozen. She thinks she likes it better than Cinderella. At least Elsa has her own magic.

“Yes, I believe it does,” Lucia nods supportively.

She kisses him goodnight, tells him she'll see him tomorrow after they pick him up from Señora’s house. She hopes he’ll be okay without the Night Night Song and in an unfamiliar place, but she’s got to let go. Otherwise she really isn’t Elsa at all.

* * *

She feels overdressed for an Uber. The driver doesn't mention it, but tells her there seem to be a lot of people going the same place she is.

He’s right. The Natural History Museum is bustling. People are taking pictures next to Teddy Roosevelt. **_A Real Night at the Museum_ ** is emblazoned across a banner out front. She hopes the cast of the Easter Island statue isn’t rigged to talk like it does in the movie.

She makes her way up the stairs and inside. She considers texting Rafa. They hadn’t talked about the logistics of this, where they were supposed to meet and when.

She decides to get rid of her coat first. She shrugs it off and hands it to the coat check attendant. She can’t believe she let Fiona talk her into this. She’s beginning to understand what Rafa meant about her being the devil. The slit is too high, she’s wearing too much makeup, the jewelry is way too much.

“Don’t be nervous,” she hears a woman behind her say soothingly. She hands the attendant her coat and turns back to her, “You look great.”

“I’m not nervous really, just -” she looks down at the sparkling gown that, despite Fiona's arguing, definitely costs more than a month’s salary. “I’m not used to wearing something this nice.”

“Well I’m sure whoever you’re waiting for will appreciate it,” the woman attempts, then makes a face, laughing. “Unless you aren’t waiting for anyone, which is perfectly fine too. Lord knows my husband would rather eat a brick than be here, but that’s the price we pay sometimes.”

She knows the feeling. The woman shakes her head, “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much, kind of an occupational hazard. I’m Sarah Garibaldi.”

She holds out her hand to shake it, and introduces herself, “Olivia Benson, nice to meet you Ms Garibaldi.”

“Please,” she scoffs “it’s Sarah,” then pulls her phone out of her purse.

“My - Rafa is on his way,” boyfriend still sounds weird to say out loud, “just knowing him he tried to order a car at the last minute.”

She digs into her own purse and realizes her phone is still in her coat pocket. It can wait while she finishes this conversation.

“Men,” Sarah rolls her eyes, “Steven told me he would meet me at the table, but I’m fairly certain he’s outside pretending he smokes so he can avoid people.”

Sarah trails off when she notices a man off to the side waving her over animatedly. “Please excuse me Olivia. I’m being summoned. And believe me, no one feels like they belong here. You just get used to faking it.”

She nods at her, then motions to the coat check attendant. She informs him she left her phone in her coat. He gives it back to her and she is able to fish it out in no time, noticing a missed text from Rafa.

She’s handing the coat back and unlocking the phone when she hears a familiar voice beside her. “Lieutenant Benson?”

This is just perfect.

She turns, pastes on a smile they both know is fake. “Hi Peter.”

She really needs to read the text from Rafa. If he went in without her she’s going to kick something.

“You waiting for Mr. Barba?” he asks.

“I - “ she stumbles, then looks down at her phone.

[ _Got here early and was pulled into some political hokum. Text me when you get here and I’ll come meet you.]_

If she has to walk into another ballroom with Peter Stone she’s going to blow an actual gasket, but if Rafa comes out and sees her with him he may blow an actual gasket. She wants to be rude and tell Peter to go the fuck away and leave her alone but none of this is anyone’s fault.

Unless -

If this is another one of Fiona’s games she’s not sure who’s going to murder her first.

“I guess he’s already here,” she manages to answer Peter, still unsure what she’s going to do.

“I can walk you in,” he offers an arm. What’s that saying about Déjà vu all over again?

“No!” she practically yells, then realizes how rude she sounded, “I’m sorry, but if I walk in there with you for a second time he’s -”

“Ah,” Peter nods knowingly, “I can see how that might look like something it isn’t. I understand. Have a good night Lieutenant.”

“Liv -” she hears Rafa’s voice and wants to melt into the floor. Instead she settles for breathing slowly through her nose to try and calm down.

One day all three of them will be able to manage timing better but today it just has to fuck up her life doesn’t it? When she looks over he’s staring at her like he can’t breathe and she can see him trying to swallow down a lump of something.

Peter looks to Rafa and takes the bullet for her. She’s never really liked him, but at least he’s trying.

“Mr. Barba, fancy seeing both of you here.”

“Well we are dating and all Peter,” he looks at the man sideways.

“Right,” Peter laughs, he cannot read a room to save his life. “Well - it was nice to see you again. Lieutenant I will see you on Monday. Have a good night.”

“I’m sorry,” she reaches out for Rafael’s hand, “I left my phone in my coat and then I checked it in and had to get it out and then Stone showed up and -” she falters, realizes he’s been searching her face and smiling the whole time. Until she trailed off.

He registers her nervousness, his face falls. “Wait - what?”

“Don’t get jealous,” She squeezes his hand, “he just has terrible timing.”

He switches to a doubtful expression. “Why would I be jealous of him?”

“I know you hate him and everything but he just kind of showed up.”

She doesn’t need this today. She already feels stupid enough in this outfit, like she’s playing dress-up with Noah’s stuffed animals. She’s always had some confidence in the way she looks, and she knows she cleans up well, but the whole package today is just a little bit much. She kind of just wants to go home.

She was trying to look nice for his stupid public figure friends and now Peter (and probably Fiona) had to go and ruin her gesture again.

Rafa seems to sense her thoughts and grabs her other hand, then squeezes both.

“No Liv, you hate him,” he looks up into his eyes to scoff, but he just raises an eyebrow. “I don’t care about him. Why would you think I was jealous?”

She releases his left hand to make some sort of gesture to emphasize her point but ends up putting it on his chest instead. Gosh he looks great.

“Your face was all -” she searches for the words “angry and shocked.”

He laughs, throwing back his head. She’s glad it’s so funny. “Honey, I’m furious,” she should be able to read these emotions that don’t match his words by now, but she’s kind of a ball of nervous energy at this point. “At Fiona. For being right about this dress. And the shock was,” he trails off, looking down at her body, “well I guess it’s not shocking how beautiful you are but -” he closes his eyes and takes a breath, “tonight is something else.”

It’s amazing how just that can make her feel so much better. She shouldn’t become so attached to his feelings like this but now that she knows it’s having the desired effect she can’t help from smiling.

“You don’t think the jewelry’s a little much?” she squirms slightly, indicating the matching necklace and earrings. He laughs.

“You don’t think you need to have a little bit more self-confidence?” he arches an eyebrow over his signature smirk. Her heart rate picks up for a second. Now she really wants to go home for other reasons. But she promised, and as much as he complains about these things he secretly loves them. “For the record I assumed something was wrong with your phone when you didn’t deride me about the word hokum. So I came out here before I had Fin send out an APB”

“So dramatic.”

“You know it,” he pulls up her hand and kisses her knuckles, “You wanna go in?”

“Okay.”

The person taking names at the door informs them they are at Table 9. She doesn’t give any indication where that is, but Olivia doesn’t mind. She’s more concerned looking at the model of a blue whale on the ceiling. She’s enjoying the view when he squeezes her hand.

She looks over and he’s stopped, like a chipmunk in the middle of the sidewalk, just staring at nothing.

“Oh God, turn around and run out of here. I’ll,” he stops, and rolls his eyes “Too late. I’ve made eye contact. Smile and pretend he’s not the worst human being on the planet.”

She’s about to ask him what he’s talking about when the person in question bounds over, grinning like he’s just met his mark. This should be interesting.

“Rafael, te hemos estado esperando!” the man yells, grabbing his biceps without prompt. She now recognizes him as the same person Sarah had been “summoned” by.

She feels like she's supposed to know exactly who everyone is and she doesn't. It should be overwhelming but she has a life raft. A partner - in more ways than one.

The man slaps Rafa across the back, a gesture she’s not sure is supposed to be a power move but certainly reads as one. “Te has estado escondiendo.”

The man registers her presence. He looks over, gives her entire body a glance over. Somehow not in a leering manner, just observant, appraising. It should be unsettling and offensive. It isn’t.

“Veo por qué. Entonces ella es real. Y una belleza también.”

Rafael rolls his eyes, the hand that was at the small of her back moves around her waist. Is he being -- possessive? Rafael? No.

The man reaches out a hand for her to shake. “Felipe Dominguez, Esquire. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She mirrors the gesture and shakes his hand. He's smiling. She’s not sure if he means it to be flirtatious. She feels like she’s prey of some kind.

She isn’t afraid of him.

“Lieutenant Olivia Benson, NYPD,” she pastes on the same smile she uses for Stone and everyone else she has to pretend to be nice to, “How are you today?”

“Devastated such a beautiful woman is saddled with such a…” he trails off, looking Rafael over as if he's assessing his auction value, “cold fish.”

She hopes this guy isn't Sarah's husband. He's rude and inappropriate and Sarah seems nice.

But she'd implied her husband's name was Steven and this -- Felipe is just a snake. A snake who has no care for the rules of polite society and is trying to flirt with her in front of her boyfriend.

Well, she's not going to allow him to insult her or Rafa with comparisons to sea creatures. She smiles, sidles even closer to his side. Even though he seems shocked she's doing it, he tightens his arm around her waist. Almost instinctively.

“I’m perfectly happy, but thanks for what I think is supposed to be a compliment.”

She can feel Rafa trying to hold back a snort. She's glad he isn't annoyed like she'd half-expected. She had to defend his honor in some way.

Felipe isn't offended either. His mouth slowly turns into a smile, still evaluating them.

“I take this back,” he declares, motioning a finger between them, “You two are perfect together. I have decided this.”

She's not sure she cares for his approval and she definitely doesn't welcome it. She almost blanches at it. She's not entirely sure that isn't what he was going for.

Rafa allows himself the laugh, and replies with his trademark sarcasm. “Thanks for the support, Felipe.”

“You are very welcome,” he grins, placing his hand on her shoulder approvingly. What a guy. “Excuse me. I have to go insult more people.”

He leaps off with a flourish, chasing some other guy who doesn't look happy to see him. She's not sure who he is, but she knows she doesn't like him.

She can feel Rafa rolling his eyes next to her. She'd normally be amused by the tension but she thinks she understands.

“Fucking Felipe,” he mutters, loosening his grip on her waist. “Esquire. He isn't even a lawyer.”

“Says the non-practicing attorney,” she smirks, turning to meet his eyes. “Who was that guy?”

He doesn't seem to hear the question, instead rolling his eyes and defending credentials that matter naught to her. “I passed the bar and practiced law. Felipe graduated from Clown College and decided he was a lawyer.”

She nudges his shoulder with hers, willing him to look at her. He does.

“Seriously honey,” Pet names. When did they get to pet names? It's… nice. “Who is he?”

He sighs, “He's the Karl Rove of New York City politics, except more evil and more Mexican.”

She supposes the man who helped get George W. Bush elected is a nicer comparison than any of Donald Trump's compatriots. Though the only reason she knows Karl Rove is because of wild mass conspiracies Munch used to spout off.

She suspects he's being dramatic and she secretly loves when he gets all worked up. Still though, they both need to calm down. She doesn’t want some weirdo ruining their time.

“So he's fine,” she rubs his back. Even though she knows exactly what he means. Even though she's pretty sure she agrees. “You say Fiona is evil.”

He smiles, hand back at her waist and inching closer to her hip. She's successfully changed the subject. “She is though,” he insists. “I'm surprised we're still alive.”

“Whatever,” she laughs, trying to lead him to find their table. “Let's go sit down.”

A man is seated at Table 9 already, tapping out something on his phone. When Rafael tries to pull out her chair for her she glares at him. She can find his romanticism endearing if she wants but she's fully capable of seating herself. He smirks and gives her a face that says “make your own bed then.” It's the same face he would make when he knew he was right about the evidence, or the victim and she tried to argue with him.

Because he's right. The way the dress fits doesn't allow her to move the chair easily and she has to shift her center of balance to sit down.

He isn't being romantic. He wasn't being sexist or typical. He was offering to help. Not because she isn't capable of taking care of herself but because things are easier when you do them together. When you trust your partner.

She'd like nothing more than to slap that fucking smirk right off of his gorgeous face. That thought isn't new at all, but now that she knows she can kiss it off, and that he wouldn't mind, she almost does it.

Instead she has to turn away from him so she doesn't.

She has a bit of a thing for him in formal wear - well, a thing for him anyway.

“Rafael Barba,” she hears him introduce himself to their dinner companion.

The man’s demeanor shifts, suddenly not so annoyed at what was on his phone. He seems to recognize the name.

Great. She won't even be here then.

“Steven Garibaldi. Nice to meet you,” he shakes Rafa's hand.

Steven, Sarah's husband, really did go to meet her in the room, even though she's probably working it. She likes him already. Though maybe that's just because he isn't Felipe Dominguez, Esquire.

She’s decided, through context clues, that Sarah is a politician. At the very least she’s a lawyer trying to become a politician. Her husband is -- not. She hasn't been out in the field for awhile but her detective instincts didn't go away.

She's not going to introduce herself if Rafa won't. She feels the jealousy bubbling up again, but then tamps it down. He doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve this. She'll take it upon herself.

“Olivia Benson,” she offers her hand. He smiles, “I think I met your wife out in the lobby. Sarah, right?”

“Yes,” he grins. “She's around here somewhere. Probably waylaid by someone trying to give her money. At least, I hope so.”

“Wait,” Rafa interrupts, “you met Sarah Garibaldi in the lobby? How long were you here before I came out?”

“Not long,” she says, trying to seem breezy and carefree. He knows she isn't. “Just enough time to talk to both her and Peter.”

As if on cue, Sarah walks up, a champagne glass in tow, with a look that says she just wants to sit down.

“Glad to see you stayed in spite of threats,” she murmurs, placing a quick kiss at her husband's temple as she settles into the chair.

“I'm still nowhere in Fortnite, though,” he shrugs.

“Andre did offer to tutor you in exchange for not having to wash dishes,” she jokes.

“I didn't realize loading a dishwasher was so difficult,” he laughs, then turns to them. “Sarah, these are our dinner dates tonight,” he indicates with a nod, “though I think you've met before.”

She looks over and recognition dawns on her face. “Olivia! Good to see the person you were waiting for did show up.” She turns to Rafael, holds out her hand. “Sarah Garibaldi, New York City Council 9th District, representing the people of Central and East Harlem and the Upper West Side.”

He looks annoyed for a second then goes for it. Whatever _it_ may be. “Rafael Barba, director of the mayor's Community Outreach Task Force, but better known as the guy your strategist has been browbeating to endorse your plan for the better part of a month.”

A city of strangers and this all came together? If she didn't know any better she'd say Fiona made this happen, but Fiona is far more concerned with pictures.

“Felipe is quite excitable,” Sarah agrees, nonplussed, sipping on her glass. “Sorry for sending him after you. I needed to keep him busy and I figured you’d be a challenge. Did he wear you down yet?”

“I'm not sure why you want my help, but it’s good. The teacher’s union approves.”

Why he doesn't think people want his help is beyond her. How he can be so damn confident with his big brass… ego and then pretend no one wants him around? The ego isn’t exactly a mask, it’s just a hard shell.

Sarah just continues trying, “You think I can get it passed?”

“That’s more your expertise than mine,” he shrugs.

“Wait…” It suddenly dawns on her that it she knows what's going on. Lucía's proposal. Well, Sarah's proposal. “Are you the one who wrote the Safe Schools Initiative?”

“Yes,” Sarah smiles. “Can you get him to support it?”

“Oh don’t let him fool you,” she scoffs, ignoring the glare she's getting from him. “He’s been re-reading it for two weeks trying to poke holes in it. He only does that when he thinks it's too good to be true. I would know.”

“Liv -”

She ignores the pleading tone in his voice. She hopes her instincts aren’t wrong about this. Sarah’s nice, she likes Steven. It’s just Felipe who’s a dick.

“I figured,” Sarah raises an eyebrow, taking another sip of her glass, “Can I ask how you two met or is this a sore subject?”

She can hear Steven laughing across from her. She looks at Rafa. He shrugs, smirks, and supplies simply. “Work.”

“So you work in the mayor’s office, too?” Sarah asks, seeming surprised. She should be.

“No,” she laughs, “I’m a cop.”

Sarah opens her mouth, clearly about to ask for more details when Peter comes up behind her. He apologizes for interrupting but he wanted to introduce himself to the Garibaldis. Sarah chats with him for a few minutes. She wishes she were able to play this game, the one they probably learn in law school, where you can pretend to be interested in everything.

This isn’t as uncomfortable as the last time she had to listen to Stone drone on at a gala, but last time she was going this alone. She had misinterpreted and jumped to conclusions. Now she actually is here to meet her boyfriend. Now it actually is a date.

She looks over at Rafael and grabs his hand. He smiles. She’s so distracted by it - by how perfect he is and how happy she feels - that she barely hears Peter telling her about how a whale’s heart is as big as a car.

She laughs, tells him she’ll see him Monday. She’s learning to pretend he doesn’t annoy the shit out of her by breathing, because none of the reasons she hates him are actually his fault.

She’s still happy to see him leave. Steven seems even happier.

“Do we think the Bounty guy back there knows he was wrong about that or just doesn't care?”

Sarah rolls her eyes, “I love that you care about the size of a whale's heart, my dear.”

“He's spreading false information,” he insists, “I hate politicians. No offense.”

She wants to tell him Peter’s just a lawyer, but she isn’t sure he doesn’t have his own plans to become a Senator. Lord help everyone.

“Please excuse Steven.” Sarah interjects, shaking her head from side to side, “He thinks he's a marine biologist because he took a zoology class in undergrad.”

“What do you do?” Olivia asks.

“I develop artificial flavors and scents for an agroscience company.”

“Well that sounds interesting,” Rafa offers.

“It's terrible,” he shakes his head.

Sarah puts her hand on his shoulder. “He had plans to cure cancer. Life intervened.”

He gazes over at her lovingly. “She had plans to make $45 million before 40. She found something better.”

It’s clearly rehearsed, but she believes most of it. It’s just a cultivated story. Rafa has a similar thought.

“You guys practice that one in the car on the way over?” he snarks, clearly unimpressed.”

“We’ve been together for twenty years Mr. Barba,” Steven states, not even the least bit annoyed.

“We don't need to practice anything. Howard brought us together even though we should have nothing in common.”

Sarah then regales them with a story of how they met in a philosophy class their freshman year. They both hated it and the professor, but everyone had to fulfill that requirement, so they stuck through it together.

Steven claims it took him forever to get up the courage to ask her out, but they’ve been together ever since. She thinks forever must mean somewhere between a month and six years, but her story is private. At least, until they work out the story they’re supposed to convince people of.

Steven and Sarah’s rehearsed monologue leaves out all the ugliness. The twenty years of hardships, work problems, moves, families. It doesn’t matter.

They have two children - a boy and a girl. Andre is ten and Grace is five. Sarah has plans to save the world and she’s starting with the schools. Even she admits to finding that a bit over the top, but she wants to try anyway.

Olivia laughs. Sarah is the kind of person she wants to believe is genuine. She wants to know her heart is in the right place, and the philosophy class story is absolutely true, and that her reasons for the Safe Schools Initiative really are about the children.

“Is there a reason it's called the Safe Schools Initiative when it has barely anything to do with safety?” she asks, noting the only real criticism she’s heard Rafa levy against it.

Sarah just smirks, “Old Republican playbook. No one wants to be seen as voting against safe schools,” she explains conspiratorially.

She is a politician after all. Maybe just - maybe one she doesn’t have to hate all of them.

She hopes.

Sarah and Rafa start talking, using legal terms even she's hard pressed to understand. Over two decades as a cop has taught her some of these things, but she's not smart enough for this conversation (trained in proper terminology, she corrects). She's about to excuse herself to the bathroom, to catch her breath and remind herself that this is a part she agreed to play, when Steven leans over.

“Forgive my wife for this,” he gestures to the lively discussion going on next to them, “she's very passionate about this proposal. So much she's even tried to get me to read it.”

“And you wouldn't normally?” She knows he isn’t political, but it seems weird he wouldn't read it.

“I'm a scientist Ms. Benson,” he laughs, “I barely understand how a bill becomes a law, but if you need me to explain how the dinosaurs died I might be able to help.”

“Oh don't tell my son the dinosaurs died,” she laughs, “He tried to save the Earth from the asteroid with a potion the other day.”

“I'll have you know he did save the Earth with a potion,” Rafa interjects, grinning. “Even if the Earth had trouble getting up later.”

“You did not,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re not getting any sympathy with perjury, counselor.”

“I didn’t realize I was under oath, Lieutenant.”

Sarah is eying them. She assumes because they’re being ridiculous, but when she inhales sharply they both look at her.

“I should have put two and two together when Peter Stone acted like he knew you both. I knew you were familiar Olivia,” she smiles, “You’re the Olivia Benson who’s the head of Manhattan SVU, right?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“I have two things to say. Well,” she considers, “Three actually. One, thank you for your service. Two, I’d like to pick your brain with regard to a the rape kit backlog we’re trying to work through and three,” she shakes her head, “You two have to come up with a better story than work for how you met if you’re going anywhere politically.”

Olivia thanks her for the compliments, and agrees to meet sometime to talk about funding.

However, Rafa disagrees about the politics. He claims he isn’t going anywhere, that it isn’t necessary. He’s the only person who thinks he doesn’t have a future in elected office. Even Steven seems not to believe him.

They all talk for a bit, about the law and as much of the Horace Carson case as she’s allowed. About their children and the world around them. By the end she thinks she’s made friends. Even Rafa seems pleased.

She notices some photographer around taking a series of pictures. She makes a mental note to ask where those are going later. Fiona will want the copies.

The Garibaldis then get a text their daughter Grace became sick at the babysitter’s. They have to get her so they have to leave much earlier than they want to. The perils of being a working parent, she thinks.

She wants to leave too, if she’s being honest.

“Congrats Liv,” Rafa smiles, pulling his chair closer as Sarah and Steven exit the room, “you just made friends with New York’s first senator of color by being good at your job.”

She laughs, “that can't be true.”

“It is,” he retorts, “we'll probably have to give her a few years until Chuck Schumer retires but Sarah Garibaldi is going to be a Senator.”

“No, I mean,” she trails off, “she'd be the first _female_ senator of color right?”

“Well, that too,” he shrugs, “but New York isn't as diverse as you'd like to believe mi vida. Especially in politics.”

There’s _mi vida_ again. As endearments go, as pet names go, it might be her favorite. She thinks he knows, so she tries to focus on the conversation.

“Next you're going to tell me we've only had white mayors.”

She’s trying to remember all the inaugurations she’s had to be in dress uniform for. All she can remember is a series of white guys but that doesn’t seem correct.

“No,” he supplies helpfully, “but we've only had male mayors.”

“That seems wrong.”

“It is, but not by facts. Look it up if you don't believe me.”

“Oh I believe you I just -” she stops, “I think I'm beginning to understand why you deal with these stupid fundraisers.”

“Because I never miss an opportunity to get you in a dress like that?” He raises an eyebrow and she snorts out a laugh.

“No, smartass,” she grabs his hand, “because this is part of the game you have to play to create a level playing field?”

“Something like that,” he laces their fingers and leans forward.

“I do think you're right about Sarah, she's definitely going places,” she kisses his cheek.

“To the White House if her campaign manager has any say over it,” he kisses her on the lips.

“We can only hope,” she murmurs against his lips, barely even registering that Sarah’s campaign manager is probably that guy she hates already. She can barely even think because Rafa’s face is so close to hers and they’re in public and she really doesn’t want to be any more.

So she just says it. “Let's go home.”

“Thank God,” he groans, pulling them up from their chairs almost immediately.

* * *

She convinces him to take a selfie on the way out. She sends it to Fiona. He’s about to admonish her about doing things for Fiona, she can tell. She just leans up and kisses him on the mouth again. It’s the only way she can think of to shut him up.

It works. He stares for a few seconds, gaping like the cold fish he was described as earlier. “What was that for?” he mutters, eyes wide.

“Being you,” she shrugs, staring into his eyes and trying to convince herself this isn’t a weirdly realistic fantasy.

They get their coats from the attendant, and the man also hands him a bag with a wink. She doesn’t want to know how much he tips the kid. She just knows they all look like large bills.

They exit the museum and it takes them no time at all to flag down a taxi.

“Who did you bribe now?” she asks as they enter the cab, indicating his giant bag.

“No one,” he answers with a tone, gesturing to the driver. Then gives the man the address of her building. “I got Noah a fossil puzzle.”

He peels back the tissue paper to show her.

It’s entirely too big and too detailed for a six year old. The label says it’s almost 2000 pieces. There’s no telling Rafael it’s too much though. He’ll call it aspirational.

“Do I want to know how you pulled that off?” she snorts, leaning against his shoulder, “The gift shop wasn’t even open.”

“Talked my way into it,” he insists, lacing their fingers together and stretching their entwined hands out between them, “You aren't the only one with skills.”

“No doubt about that.”

* * *

They make it home. She checks her phone. Fiona has texted back a series of what must be 85 grinning emojis, followed by another 85 hearts. Rafa told her she would regret giving her number to the woman, but she thinks it’s fun.

She sits on the couch, taking off her shoes, when Rafa calls his mother.

He puts the phone on speaker. Lucía informs them Noah went out like a light after she took him to the neighborhood park. Apparently he doesn’t need the Night Night Song when he’s worn out.

She’s teaching him some Spanish, she says. She wants to take him to a dance class next week. She agrees before Rafa can say no. He rolls his eyes and, but thanks her for helping and assures her they’ll be there in the morning to pick him up.

She tells them it isn’t necessary, they need alone time. He just tells her good night and hangs up.

He leans over, kisses her on the forehead, and gets up. He mutters something about Noah using the term _abuela_ before the month ends, and makes his way to the bedroom.

She doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want the father title, but he’s definitely applying for the job whether he’s realized it or not. One day, when they’re all ready, she’ll ask him if it wants it. Right now she can just be Abuela Lucia like there’s Aunt Amanda and Uncles Fin and Sonny. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.

Even if it isn’t that complicated at all.

She reaches for the necklace clasp and can’t quite grasp it. She gets up, content to ask for help. For once.

“Honey,” she starts as she enters the bedroom. She's caught off guard before she can finish what she was saying. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His bowtie is hanging loosely around his neck. His shoes are off and he's working on removing his cufflinks.

Her mouth has gone dry. She thought she was worked up about him in formalwear before but it seems him half out of it is the bigger issue.

He looks up, “yeah?”

Then he smiles, and there is suddenly nothing in the world she'd like more than to jump into his arms and remove his cumberbund. _With her teeth_ , her brain supplies helpfully.

But she's supposed to be asking him to help. Right?

“Can you help with the -” she points to the back of her neck.

He nods yes and she turns around. She hears the box spring move and then hs breath is at the base of her neck. She feels his fingers lightly unclasp the necklace, then catches it in her hands as he wraps his around her middle. Then he presses a kiss to the back of her neck.

She moans loudly, nearly dropping the necklace.

She can feel him smirk against her back, “I thought so.”

“And you know me so well,” she shivers as he places light kisses along her shoulder.

“Yes,” he answers, taunting her. “For the record this is doing a lot for me too. If you can't already feel it.”

She suddenly registers the hardness against her butt.

_Oh boy._

“I have to go put this in the box and then I'll be back.”

His turn to whimper. “You don't need help with the dress?” he murmurs, continuing the kissing along the back of her neck while his hand plays at the zipper.

Holy Hell, she thinks. She does, she definitely does, but this isn't exactly helping.

“You just want to get me naked,” she taunts, leaning into him.

“Guilty as charged,” he answers, pulling down the zipper but stopping every other movement. He's waiting for approval to do more. God she loves him.

She turns around in his arms, necklace still in her left hand. She leans forward and kisses his cheek.

“I'll be right back,” she promises, leaning her forehead against his, trying to gather the will to move.

When she returns from the bathroom, where she put the dress and jewelry in the containers they came in, he's already in bed. He's leaning against the headboard, mostly under the covers, reading something on his phone.

“Did the president do something stupid while we were out?” she jokes, trying to get under the covers as quickly as possible.

She's regretting the choice not to put on anything. It's freezing and judging by the expression he’s giving the phone he isn't in the mood any more.

He looks up and over at her.

“One, I'm looking at apartments for us. It isn't going well. Two,” he starts, turning to his side and reaching for her under the sheets, “please do not confuse my subconscious by talking about such vile things while being so fucking hot.”

“Policing what I talk about?” She teases, hooking her leg around his hip and nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. “I thought better of you.”

“I guess you're right,” he sighs contently, kissing the top of her head as he reaches his arms around her. “I'd just rather talk about more pleasant things. Especially with you wrapped around me like this.”

“I forgive you,” she laughs, closing her eyes. “We do still have to talk to Noah about moving.”

“Yeah,” his fingers rub against her spine. “Maybe let's wait until we find something. I don't want to get him all excited and then have it take four months.”

“Good idea,” she yawns. When did she get so tired? “Hopefully not that long though. I'm tired of sharing closet space.”

She could give a crap about closet space, but she knows he can't stand the lack of organization in hers. She's mostly tired of having to work out where they're going. Or him making subtle comments about her WalMart sheets like she's ever been to a WalMart. There are no toys for Noah when they're at his place, and too little space for their little family. She wants to share everything but the closet space.

“Well I do have to hire a new assistant and you know how great I am at decision making,” he snarks.

She pushes back from his chest, looking into his eyes. “You're excellent at it once you know what you want,” she raises an eyebrow. “Did you finally fire Chet?”

“He actually gave two weeks’ notice. I was shocked.”

She laughs, snuggles back into his chest. She's still horny as hell, but she'll take care of that later. Right now she's so comfortable and warm and happy.

Noah is safe and sound, the love of her life is in her bed, wound around her. She finally feels like she fits somewhere, with someone, and she doesn't have to sacrifice who she is to be a family. She's not sure how she ever denied this was real, but it doesn't matter any more.

She'll show him how much she appreciates it in the morning. Right now she's not so jazzed about moving an inch.

His heavy breathing seems to say the same thing.

As much as she may not fit into the sparkling world of the high society he frequents, she does fit into his life. They carved out spaces a long time ago, it just took forever to realize they wanted to be there.

She isn't going anywhere. He is her Rafa after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please comment :)


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